Yesterday, I walked to Granville Island to pick up macarons, dessert for our second dinner=with-guests here in less than a week. It’s a fairly long walk, but the weather was pleasant — showers held off, considerately, until just as I arrived back home — and I got my 10,000 steps in (closer to llK, actually!). And the walk is so pleasant that the kilometres (6.9 in total, my way-too-smart phone tells me) seem to pass quickly as I admire the views from the seawall, stop to sniff blooms along the way, and sneak in a bit of people-watching as well (I’m not the only one who likes this walk!).
I promised you an Outfit of the Day post, so here’s what I wore, walking to Granville Island Market yesterday: striped, long-sleeved Armor-Lux linen/cotton marinière, olive linen skirt, J Crew, a few years old, Stan Smith Adidas. Simple, easy to wear. . .
The last kilometre or so of the route curves through some of my favourite public landscaping in the city. There’s always such an interesting combination of colours and textures and heights and shapes among the plants, no matter the season. But in Spring, the effect is superlative. I always slow down here . . . and not just because other walkers have stopped on the path to snap a shot of a perfect peony or radiant rose. Yesterday, I’d been craning my neck to trace the ascent of a pink climbing rose twenty or more feet up an evergreen tree, but I’d picked up my pace again, was moving fairly smartly along when I was stopped in my tracks by a whoosh of bracing fragrance.
There it was! Two garden maintenance workers were ministering to a perennial border just ahead; one of them was directing a hose into a swath of Nepeta, that purple-flowered herb your cats love to sink into, leaving their imprint in the bed after a lazy nap in the sun. (Note, though, that this variety (probably Nepeta x faassenii) is catmint, not white-flowered catnip (Nepeta cataria); your cats are unlikely to eat the purple-flowered variety but the bees and butterflies will line up happily). . . I couldn’t help but comment with pleasure and gratitude for the burst of scent. The hose-wielder stopped what he was doing, bent over and broke off a small sprig, then held it up to show me that telltale square stem that identifies Nepeta as a member of the mint family (but not invasive, gardeners will be happy to know).
After he’d finished his explanation, I presumptuously asked if the sprig was for me. “Absolutely,” he chuckled, and handed it over with a small flourish. And I headed toward my macaron-shopping grinning, pleasure in the scent and in the simple joy of a spontaneous friendly exchange with strangers. Gardens and humanity, eh?
How I love a pocket! This one nicely accommodates my iPhone 8 — and since my hearing aids connects wirelessly to my phone, no cords required.
You know what else made me smile yesterday? So much, to be honest. Eating Paul’s delicious roast chicken with the six of us around our table for the first time, my daughter advised, since last March. Watching the Eight scarf down the lion’s share of her granddad’s “smashed potatoes” (a favourite, on the menu at her request). Passing the plate of macarons around, to the kids’ delight and their immediate commitment to making the right choice. . . much consultation with the Menu was necessary. . .
But I smiled the most (might have been a teary smile, I won’t lie) when the Six interrupted someone’s sentence to announce, “Hey! There’s three things we haven’t done yet that we always like to do at Nana’s.” And then he listed them, looking across the table at me for help or corroboration: 1) sitting out on the balcony in the dark with hot chocolate and cookies; (he’s right on this one; we last sat out sipping our hot, sweet drink together Winter 2019). 2) making peanut butter cookies: I had to remind him that when he and his sister were over a few weeks ago, after Granddad and I were two weeks past our first vaccination, he’d cajoled me into making cookies. . . he conceded quickly, “Oh right, I forgot that! 3) Good Books! We’ve been too busy today to look at all of Nana’s good books”. . . . (to be remedied, very soon)
I mean, seriously, if I could script my legacy, this would cover the grandmother portion pretty decently.
As capacious as these pockets are, I also grabbed my bag/backpack (ultra-light leather, M0851). . .
They left about 8:30, and once the clean-up was done, we settled in with books and Netflix, respectively, replete with memories of the evening, enjoying the restored quiet. Until the rain burst into startlingly loud percussion, drumming on the concrete pavers out on the terrace, smashing into windows, insisting on our attention as stridently as a Two in a tantrum. It wasn’t yet dark, and from the living-room we looked across the lane to the low, flat industrial rooftop whose puddle lets us gauge the need for umbrellas — not that we were going anywhere.
The rain was splashing back out of that puddle as ferociously as it bounced in. And three or four storeys above it, on the (covered) patio of a condo in the building opposite us, a balding man in his mid-to-late 30s, a tall (6-4″-ish) broad man in sweat pants and a white tee, was holding a very tiny baby in front of him and, we gathered or imagined, talking to him about the magic of rain. . .
The space where that new dad and his infant stood was occupied only by air when we moved here five years ago. Our first New Year’s Eve here, I remember looking across the lot their condo now occupies to watch couples walk through falling snow on their way home; unable to sleep that night, I watched city workers out before dawn clearing the sidewalk around the Community Centre. That spring, we lived through the noise and dust and drama of the excavation (our grandson, just turning One, was fascinated, loved me holding him up at the window to watch).
They’d started building by the time we left for Europe that fall, and by the time we came back the structure was several storeys high. The following spring, workers consulted blueprints and deployed a variety of tools and skills to make a variety of noises (and more dust) just metres from our front room. In a perverse twist on Aesop’s fable (the North Wind and the Sun), Construction Noise and Dust competed with Summer Heat to determine whether we opened or closed our windows. And by the time we returned from that Fall’s trip to Europe, the structure had securely separated outdoor from indoor space, all the way up through nine storeys.
Residents began moving in through the next Spring and Summer, and across from us, a tall young blonde woman and a tall, broad, balding young man could occasionally be seen on the patio of the unit directly across the back lane from us. They set up a large sunbrella and also a tall shiny column of an outdoor gas heater, a table and some chairs, and we made sure to be discreet if we were in each other’s sightlines as they brought their coffee outside on a sunny weekend morning. They regularly took advantage of their new real estate’s entertaining possibilities, sharing their city view with friends over dinner, laughter and chat sometimes spilling happily across the alley.
And then this exquisitely intimate scene we witnessed two evenings ago, in such a strangely distanced urban moment that rendered us voyeurs of tenderness, unable to turn away. . .
I’ve deleted the follow-up thoughts I began trying to write into a paragraph, thoughts about neighbours and community in small towns I’ve lived in, where the sound of car wheels on your gravel driveway could mean an unexpected visit from a friend “just dropping in.” Thoughts of the community grapevine on a small island, organizing meals-for-a-month for a family with a newborn. Where I watched island kids grow from toddlers to university students. Because the thoughts too easily veer facile; they want to be nostalgic; they are inclined to ignore the kinds of communities that cities do foster. The kind that new mom and dad are likely being supported by. . . And having deleted those thoughts, look what I’ve just done! 😉
So time to just let you imagine that rain pelting down, the dark just falling, that new dad gently, gently, telling his newborn all about the world. . . And across the lane, unnoticed by those two, the years fall away as an older couple remember . . .
And now, I’ll turn the mic over to you and wait for your comments. Anything this post has evoked for you. . . or just a Wave in my direction, if you’re so inclined. Happy Sunday!
What a beautiful post, Frances. You had a perfect day. When I was teaching, I remember an activity we did called Storytellers Circle, where the class sat in a circle (Ha….hence the name) and we shared brief stories of a time when we were “completely happy.” I loved how more often than not the kids talked about the same kinds of brief, wonderful moments you’ve written about. Moments drenched in sensory imagery, sufficed with that wave of feeling just, well, contented and completely happy. Sigh.
Now… who is this older couple of whom you speak at the end??
P.S. Love that green skirt with your Stan Smiths. xo
Author
Thanks, Sue! I love the idea of those Storytellers Circles. How satisfying those must have been for your students!
I received the e-mail notification this morning. It is amazing too me how how communities change over time. We moved into our apartment 25 years ago and the neighbours were seniors who had down-sized from detached homes. As they moved on to care homes or passed away, younger owners on their way up “the property ladder appeared. Currently, new owners are renovating apartments to suit small (or larger) families who have chosen to remain in an overpriced suburb. The babies and the young children have become (after a lot of resistance) a new part of our community.
Author
Isn’t it great to have the diversity of ages in a community?! We’re among the oldest in our complex, which is a large one, and I find the mix energizing (although I wouldn’t be amiss to a few compatible women my age with whom I’d immediately become good friends 😉
What a lovely post. I could almost imagine I was there with you observing the life around you.
Author
Thank you! What a sweet thing to say!
Frances, I really love the new format. Exquisite writing as always. I miss cities, I know Victoria is a city, and we go often, but I mean a BIG CITY. I was walking the sea wall with you. I think it’s one of my all time favourites. People watching in a BIG CITY is so interesting and varied. Of course I love it here, but we need a city fix to remember why we live here.
I hope by July or August we will be able to go Vancouver for a few days. Usually the Sylvia Hotel for us.
Ali
Author
Thanks Ali! I’m sure you’re really missing your usual travel even though you live in a magical place. Perhaps next time you’re over, we might connect again. (I love the Sylvia, but, of course, haven’t stayed there since we moved here.)
That would be lovely!
Ali
It all sounds so lovely, Frances. These small joys, they really are everything.
I love the striped shirt and skirt combo, too!
Author
They really are, Sue! Thanks, the skirt’s getting on (6 years of hard living ;-). . . but I love it with the new stripes.
Oh my! This beautiful post evoked so many feelings for me. First of all, I thoroughly enjoyed your walk to Granville Island, a place I love to visit when I’m in Vancouver. Then, missing my grandchildren as we haven’t been able to get together in many, many months. And last, the story of the young father and his newborn touched my heartstrings! I live in one of those small towns (population about 800) and enjoy it’s many advantages, but I’m definitely ready for a large dose of city. Hopefully Vancouver in September.
Author
I’m pleased the post engaged you on a few levels. . . so hard to be missing our grandkids, I know.
800, that’s definitely a small town! Such closeness and support . . . and sometimes a bit of claustrophobia. I hope (safe) travel opens up within and between provinces before too long.
Waving from Athens, Georgia where I have spent the last 4 days with my son and his family ~ a new 4 and a 15 month old teething ~ which have been wonderful days. Ah, the joys of CandyLand again. And again. And read just one more Granny 💕
Author
Thanks for the wave, Susan. How great that you’ve had time with your family (and how have I been lucky enough to miss CandyLand (not a board game fan, tbh ;-). But “read just one more,” that I know well! 😉
Sweet, poignant moments, all adding up to a wonderful day! Your words brought me along with you on your walk. Sights, sounds, and smells! Thanks for sharing!
Author
So pleased you enjoyed it, Charlene! It was a day worth sharing.
The best of weekends. My fingers are still crossed firmly for a family visit in just over two weeks’ time but do not want to tempt Fate, even though I run over menu options and what kind of birthday cake to make for my son. But I may very well order some macarons for a wondrous local baker because nobody ever says no to those. Re table chat: Mr Green came up with a good one recently when we were with friends for his birthday – going round the group (6) and asking each person to name three good things that have surprisingly come out of the past year and lockdowns. Everybody could even though two of the guests had actually contracted Covid and recovered but still found things to celebrate. We all looked very pleased when we had done this.
Author
I’ll add my crossed fingers to strengthen your chances.
I can imagine Mr. Green’s request would trigger some interesting responses, particularly if guests got specific (beyond “it made us slow down and appreciate what we have” — which is an obvious boon, but not so interesting on repeat). I’d imagine there might even be some interesting life turns taken.
That was a lovely read Francis , I didn’t want it to stop . Perhaps you should write a book on your neighbours – although they might find it rather creepy ‘ What’s with the weirdo over the way ? ‘
We live on the outskirts of our small city in a group of half a dozen houses . When we moved in here it was 1976 & we were the youngsters . Now we are the oldies . Ah well , that’s life
Author
Ha! re the book idea. . . In fact, that young couple have at least 25 homes with unimpeded sightlines looking down, or over, to their terrace, none more than 50 metres away. No binoculars required 😉 I would be so much more self-conscious than they seem to be, but it’s lovely that they’re able to enjoy their outdoor space comfortably. We’re gradually adapting to this aspect of urban life. . .
So moving,beautifully written,Frances!
OOTD is real life cool!
Having your family (part of) with you-what a bliss! Yes,brava,well done with your g’children-what a legacy! Bravo for the Chef,as well!
Here….still waiting for all kind of handy man for all kind of places-I feel so tangled ( minus gorgeous hair :))……Your gentleman gardener seems so kind,not only from my perspective,where no flattery,bribe or threats help-they are so busy with all repairs after the earthquake I and II,that I plan my holidays regarding their free time (or-I can’t plan my holidays so far)-how pathetic is that?
Author
Thanks, Dottoressa! “Real life cool” — I’ll take it!
I’m so sorry to hear about your ongoing frustration getting work done! I need you to get to the seaside this summer — I love being able to picture you there! Incrociamo le dita!
What a joyous and evocative post. Your walk, the sound of the rain, which you have captured so beautifully, those small moments bot shared and imagined. These seemingly small things that in the end are everything.
Author
Thank you! I hope you’re feeling well — Brava on the hair-shearing, a bold move and you rock the look!
Your post vividly captures sweet moments in time–a beautiful watercolour of words.
Author
Thanks for the kind and encouraging words, Mary!
Lovely words and observations. Dinner indoors (!) with your family and the cycle of building from the ground up, literally and metaphorically, as the new baby is held by his father in a rainstorm. Over the course of this past week we’ve hosted three indoor gatherings with our three children and their families. How wonderful, yet a bit strange, to sit across the table from them and visit. Although we’ve seen the grandchildren outdoors a fair bit, they all seemed so much older indoors. Again, this is such a lovely post and I will remember the word painting of the rain, and the baby held in loving arms.
Really enjoyed this post. It reminded me of a recent walk I took in my own town to an artisan bakery. They do make macaroons but I am partial to their cheese bread or the potato rosemary. There are actually two other larger, more commercial bakeries here. Sometimes you can smell it baking from my home. So happy you were able to get together with family again. this week I was able to dine indoors twice with my own crew. so special!
Darby
So beautiful and meaningful in so many ways. The growth of families and structures, the sense of community and what’s possible or imaginable. Thank you.
Author
You’re welcome, and thank You for the kind words. xo