pamplemousse heads west, (young man).

I’m at the beginning of a big adventure. It started a week ago with a plane trip out west to BC; a plane trip on which I got sick somewhere over Thunder Bay. It was gross and embarrassing. I rarely get sick and puking is the thing I’m worst at and in the confines of a plane bathroom I get progressively worse at it. Usually I travel very well, like apples or Styrofoam. That day I was traveling more like a mushy banana at the bottom of an 8 year old’s school bag.

It was an extra shame, because I happened to seated next to an older couple who were very friendly and talkative and it was interesting, until of course I turned green all of a sudden and had to travel with my head on my knees in a vain effort to suppress the strange nausea.

But that part of the adventure ended and after lying outside at the Swartz bay ferry terminal for an hour, I felt a lot better. Then I was on the boat to Saltspring Island – a strange place with many hippies and rich yuppies. Apparently there are American celebrities living here, but I wouldn’t know. No one cares for celebrity around here.



It’s been a pleasant visit, other than the usual family politics, which I’ve blissfully ignored as much as I can and would rather not write about. The parent’s hot tub with a mountain top view allows me to forget such things.

We all headed over to Victoria the other day so I could meet up with Jimbo Gordaneer who is a very fine artist (and the granpa of my two best buddies under 10). I also got to meet Mark Laver, another painter. Painters always impress me. Jimbo can’t explain how he comes up with ideas, and I appreciate that honesty. None of that art school pretension here. Just paintings… everywhere. No corner of that old house is empty of art, and there is a pleasant surprise every which way.

Since then, I’ve been puttering around the island. I met a float plane pilot that let me sit in his beaver plane, and was ignored by all the sullen looking goth like kids hanging around the harbour.



I did manage to fall through a hole in the porch of the cabin my father is renovating. For some reason it was covered over with black tar paper. This is the sort of trick the Viet Cong pulled on the Americans in Vietnam. I didn’t expect it from my parents. Check out that bruise. I’m reasonably sure they didn’t mean to do this.


You can almost see my butt. I cropped it out though, cause this isn't that sort of blog... yet.

I traded my computer hands for chainsaw hands for a few days, which is why I haven’t posted until now. Today, although I had left my winter boots behind, I find that 2 inches of snow have fallen over night. As a result we are house bound, sort of. It’s really pretty though, and the two stupid dogs are very happy.


Tomorrow I’m off to Vancouver and then the long bus ride to Hinton. Huzzah!