Hope For a Tree Cut Down

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I got off the bus after my usual stop and enjoyed a different path up the hill today past a leaning fruit tree stump that looked dead but had sprouted a new shoot…I’m reminded of what a friend said recently, “Where there’s life, there’s hope.”  Cold and overcast again.  The ladies walking club passed on their way uphill sporting shirts of orange, hot pink and papaya, with tiny dogs on tethers.  Morning knits are quieter than afternoon knits, I’ve realized.  I miss C. and D. who are too preoccupied with their morning routine to visit much.  At the tail end of the hour, J. joined me on the bench with her yarn bomb project–a yellow and black camouflage cozy tailor made for the railing of a B.C. ferry, The Queen of Surrey.  She said that The Queen of Coquitlam had a black and yellow railing too but the dimensions were different.  She has decided to ask permission before tying her cozy to the rails, because she doesn’t want to get cited for graffiti while in a foreign country, and possibly risk losing her NEXUS border pass.  Asking permission before yarn bombing sort of defeats the purpose if you ask me, but she didn’t ask me so I didn’t say anything.  Besides, her 99 year old grandmother lives in Canada and she visits her every other weekend, which is incredibly sweet.  We sat together eating the organic strawberries she brought to share.

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I forgot to write about last Saturday.  I met Candy’s friend Robert who appeared peddling a strange contraption with his hands, a tricycle made for people with disabilities.  “It’s called a rainbow PET,” he said.  “Personal Energy Transportation.”  They’re illegal in the U.S. (except in parades) because they’re too easily capsized.  He said that the brake is located just below the pedals, and when the pedals start twirling down a hill it becomes almost impossible to stop.  I loved the happy colors, the stencils of prancing horses on the back.  A group of 90 year old seniors paint them at a workshop in Spokane, Washington.  Robert loaded the PET into the back of his van to drive it to the Ski to Sea parade where he planned to ride it for promotional purposes.

I also talked with a young willowy brunette, the mother of two children who come to visit Fairhaven every summer. The children had asked about me but we haven’t seen each other yet. They move every year or so between military bases around the world; right now they are stationed in Korea. I asked the wife how she does it—uproots and starts over again on such a regular basis. She said she has come to enjoy the fresh start, the sense of adventure. The military community is exceptionally supportive—they’re all trying to survive. When a new family moves to the base, everyone pitches in to provide bedding or dishes while the family waits for their boxes to arrive. “You don’t have time to decide whether or not someone is your type, whether or not you like someone. Since none of us have family closeby, we have to become that to each another. Our loneliness is a greater bond than any difference that might separate us.”

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