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Wednesday, July 5, 2017

Most of a Day at Home with My Wife Jack

As detailed in yesterday's post, my wife Jack had shown up from Vancouver during the midday while I was out on some errands.

I arrived home to find her almost set to leave again ─ but only to hook up with a couple of her friends here in Surrey. She said that she would be back later in the afternoon.

I do not now recall just when it was that she did get back, but I am reasonably sure that it was in the early evening.  My younger brother Mark was already home.

Before I realized it, she was all set to take off again, claiming that she would be back still later. I didn't notice it at the time ─ I was involved with a television programme ─ but she was actually picked up by someone.

Mark wrestled with some unconsciousness during the evening, but he was alert enough in the latter evening before he went on upstairs to his bedroom around 10:30 p.m. for the night.

Normally that is my cue to turn the T.V. off and do whatever else I feel I need to before getting to my own bedroom for the night. My youngest stepson Poté had been out and showed up right around then, so I went upstairs and left the state of the front door ─ locked or not ─ in his charge.

I toyed with leaving on my bedroom light for Jack, since I would be wearing a blindfold and earplugs anyway, but I decided to just pull the bedroom door to without shutting it.

It was about 11:11 p.m.

Sleep took quite some time in visiting me. Yet when it finally did arrive, I still had no indication that Jack had made it home.

I think her eldest son Tho left her in peace this morning, and got to the SkyTrain on his own so that he could get to work out in Burnaby. He normally abuses his mother's presence by getting her to get up and drive his lazy ass so he doesn't have to bus or walk the mile or so to get to the SkyTrain.

At most, it was 6:46 a.m. when I checked the time this morning and got myself up so that I could get to work on the post I am building at my hosted website Latin Impressions.

I correctly surmised that I would have an excellent chance of putting in what constitutes a normal day's work on the post. I even had myself a session of exercise out in the backyard tool shed.

Jack didn't get up until at least 11:30 a.m. I had nearly betaken myself out to the backyard sundeck to commence some sunning.

It's been nice having her present, but I hate being delayed in getting a start on my intended daily post here. Often Jack will head out to do errands, but she remained home this time ─ except for a quick little walk over to a 7-Eleven not a block away, late in the noon-hour.

I took these two almost candid shots of her as she was returning along the brief alleyway that runs past our home here in a cul-de-sac ─ the alleyway leads out to a main avenue. I tried to be inconspicuous, but she was on the lookout and had seen me badly hidden behind our backyard's fence:



All good fun!

Incidentally, the 7-Eleven is that building whose broad side is visible directly well beyond Jack.

She was to head on back to Vancouver late this afternoon ─ I saw her off between 5:45 p.m. - 5:50 p.m.

And since I never know whether my younger brother Mark will be home from the bar very early in the evening, or mid-evening or later, I might as well bring this post to a close.

I shall do so with this journal entry of mine from 41 years ago when I was 26 years old, and living in a basement housekeeping unit in New Westminster.

The very small 'suite' I was renting was in a private home on Ninth Street, and about two houses up from Third Avenue.

I was working full-time for a New Westminster charitable organization called S.A.N.E. (Self Aid Never Ends), but only on a three-or-so-month contract. And I was probably a third of the way through it.

I had worked off-and-on for S.A.N.E. on a part-time basis since maybe as far back as 1974. And just about always, I was a swamper on their blue pick-up truck, which was generally driven by Esther St. Jean, a delightful lady in her early 40s.

Today, S.A.N.E. is known as Fraserside Community Services Society. In those earliest years of its existence, it was housed in an old building located along Carnarvon Street. That building was demolished years ago, but it used to be situated approximately where today's New Westminster SkyTrain Station spreads out onto Carnarvon Street.
MONDAY, July 6, 1976

I roused before 6:00 a.m.

I sure wish I could return to sleep this cloudy morning rather than go to S.A.N.E.

I hope Took has and hands over my twenty.

He claimed poverty this round. Apparently he saw the old man drunk in a Vancouver hotel Saturday.

I sure misjudged the weather; it was one of the hottest sunny days yet.

I did little today.

At one point in the morning I went to Fields and blew $12.79 on pants and 2 tank tops. And at noon I went to the Royal Book Mart but couldn't find the missing Guardians of the Galaxy or The X-Men. Same at the Book Bazaar (but I did buy John Jakes' Mention My Name in Atlantis and James Branch Cabell's Figures of Earth); but before arriving here right after a tour thru Army & Navy, Art found me on the Street. Fortunately, he wasn't too hot on my coming over, and tomorrow has to undergo a medical check-up.

Toward the end of my day I spent $4.01 at Safeway; chicken livers are 77¢ lb from 67¢.

I got a ride home; Mike drove, as I guess Esther isn't back yet.

I've $18 in cash.

I'll be in bed at 10:00 p.m.
"Took" was an Indigenous Canadian also working at S.A.N.E., but who couldn't foot his drinking tab very comfortably. He was a very nice fellow who was at least into his 30s, but he was far too eager to hit me up for loans when I was no better off than he was.

It annoyed me. I never borrowed money from people because I hated to be that much closer to being broke the next time I was to have some money ─ which would of course be the situation once I paid back my debt.

Some people just will not accept that reality, however.

I certainly loved my fantasy fiction ─ whether books, or Marvel comics.

I'm a little fuzzy now on where the Book Bazaar may have been, but the Royal Book Mart was known to me since secondary school, and the business still exists today ─ although not as a book store that a customer can physically visit. 

It used to be in a shop at the intersection of Sixth Street & Agnes Street.

The fellow I met while I was roaming downtown was Art Smith ─ I had gotten to know him in the past when we both worked together as part-timers at S.A.N.E. He was in his early 40s, married, and had three kids.

He also loved to drink. I enjoyed it, too, but not to the extent that he wanted to involve me. And so I tended to try and steer clear of him rather than become entangled in this sort of thing.

Apparently I got a ride home from S.A.N.E. with a guy called "Mike Fleming," but I remember absolutely nothing of him now. Esther was out of town. 

Reading these old journal entries brings the thought to mind that I actually miss me. I don't much like who I have become in this my later life. 
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