This feathered sentinel spent the better part of an hour examining weary travellers behind the glass doors that separate the passenger area of berth 5 from the outdoor deck. Most of us humans were sitting around, eyes locked on our phone screens. Two guys in their early 20s went outside and traded turns looking out at sea wistfully while the other took pictures. Both went inside immediately after their photoshoot to upload their artificially contemplative snapshots to the ‘gram. Witnessing this mini-photoshoot unfold amused me more than seeing a similar photo crop up on my* Instagram feed.
*I don’t have a personal Instagram account, nor do I post on this so-called spy account. I find Instagram artificial and unintelligent.
I’d gotten to the Tsawwassen ferry terminal 90 minutes before the next sailing. I did not spend the entire wait observing my surroundings nor staring at my phone. Like the seagull, it’s all about finding the right balance.
I have since learned that birds often perch on one leg to conserve body heat. I should try this technique sometime.
Anyhoo, I spent two weeks on the mainland and, as a result, was without a keyboard with which to report on my life. Most of what I’m about to write, over the next few days, is literally last year’s news.
Zoée had invited me to spend Christmas with them and their cat, Greta. I hesitated: I would love to spend Christmas with a deaf friend, especially one of my closest, Zoée. Yet, I really dislike travelling during the holidays. Although BC Ferries doubled the daily sailings, there are quadruple the passengers, with half the patience. Based on my calculations, it wasn’t worth the trouble until Zoée asked if I could stick around for another 10 days to look after Greta.
I spent almost the entire day of December 23rd either in transit or standing around in the cold waiting for my next mode of transportation. I had yet to learn about the one-legged heat-retaining technique. The ferry departed late, which meant I, along with a horde of loser cruisers, had to wait 45 minutes for the next bus, which, naturally, ended up getting trapped in rush hour traffic.
I am ashamed to say that I whacked a guy in the face with my backpack when I boarded the last bus of my 8-hour journey. As it turns out, I am one of those infuriating holiday travellers I whine about.
This bus spat me out in front of a sushi restaurant where I met Zoée. There, I had my first of about 10 sushi meals while in Vancouver. Sushi restaurants–in Vancouver anyway–are the last vestiges of affordable dining, with $15 being enough to fill me up.
Some of the items my backpack contained were:
- my embroidery kit and two WIPs
- running shoes
- swimsuit, swim cap, and goggles
- Nintendo Switch
- e-reader
- slippers
- tank top and running shorts
That guy got whacked in the head with my ambitions.
“I have a skipping rope!” Zoée said, trying to quell my concerns about maintaining my fitness while being apart from my bikes for two weeks. Zoèe’s suite is on the upper floor of the house they live in, but that didn’t matter because the only one at this address with working ears was the cat.
The extent of my physical activity on Christmas Eve was working on a jigsaw puzzle featuring birds in scarves and hats.
Christmas Day began with an online Mario Kart showdown with Danica, who gets credit for introducing Zoée and me 20 years ago. Danica’s son, who was nothing 20 years ago, jumped in as the second player and basically ruined Christmas by defeating us all.
Crestfallen by our crushing losses, Zoée and I started a second jigsaw puzzle to heal our old souls. While we did this, we watched five Asian nations (and Australia) try to outmuscle one another on Netflix’s (or Nut Flick, as Danica calls it) Physical Asia. This show involved sand, and lots of it: in bags, crates, piles, and assorted orifices of the contestants.
Not quite as impressive as Kevin McCallister’s ability to booby trap an entire mansion in one day. It’d been years since I’d seen Home Alone, and it left me perplexed by the level of involvement cops had in people’s lives. Was it normal in the 90s for the police to drop by for a friendly chat? Or to chase an 8-year-old across a park for stealing a toothbrush? I was perplexed by how Macaulay Culkin’s acting skills in this movie made him the highest-paid child actor in the 90s. When he enters Buzz’s room the morning his family ditches him, he looks up at the ceiling as if he expects to find Buzz perched upside down like Spiderman. The muppets in The Muppet Christmas Carol had better range.
Our Christmas feast featured mostly traditional dishes:
- Brussels sprouts
- Canned smooth cranberry jelly (like me, Zoée prefers this to the homemade stuff)
- Homemade pumpkin pie, by yours truly (“What kind of psycho doesn’t want pie?”)
- roasted nugget potatoes
- Vegan breaded dinosaur egg
All served on oversized fine china, lending to the illusion that we weren’t about to gorge ourselves silly, as is tradition with holiday meals.
About the dinosaur egg: it was meant to be a savoury stuffed vegan turk’y, but it ended up fossilizing in the air fryer. It was fine: Danica’s kid had already ruined our Christmas. Besides, Zoée bought an extra package, so this dish had its redemption on Boxing Day.
The pumpkin pie turned out a little ugly, forming cracks in the middle as it cooled on the rack. This is where whipped cream comes in, only I’m lactose intolerant and would have made things truly ugly.
Christmas hadn’t actually been ruined. In fact, it was the best Christmas I’ve had in a long time.
In my next post, I’ll write about being home alone, more buff guys, power washing, Kitchen Confidential, Feeding Ghosts, going to Tim Horton’s for some nudity, and running.
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