Change is in the air. People are moving around, getting back to work and having their Covid hair tamed. Cars, or rather trucks and SUVs in Vernon, are moving again, windows open, tunes booming. But all is not exactly as it was. There's a tentativeness about the trying of new ways everywhere. 

The public health and government advice in Canada now is that masks should be worn at all times when social distancing cannot be guaranteed. But Vernonites are not accepting this quickly, I among them, even though I have a great plaid mask I bought when I was biking in Ho Chi Minh City. I tell myself that breathing under a mask fogs my glasses, but really, I feel weird wearing one. I didn't wear it yesterday in the grocery store, where I noticed that most people wearing them were older and looked like CBC Radio devotees. But  Jay has sent me pictures of him wearing a mask on the Seoul subway and hating it,especially as the temperature rises. S. Korea is fighting the virus so successfully that I will wear a mask next time I'm in a public place. Besides, I'd rather align my actions with those of Jay and the S. Koreans than Trump. 

Schools will soon open in a very tentative way in B.C.  I was really moved, while watching the CBC National News the other night, by a clip showing a mother in Quebec preparing her very young son for his first day back to school after quarantine. Just before she shut the door, he looked up at her and said, "Did you put my mask in the pack, mum?"  That he'd even think of a mask, let alone remind his mum in such a matter-of-fact way about it amazed me. This isn't the 'new normal', for him; it's just normal that his mask be in the pack with the books, pencil case and lunch. 

How well we adapt to change when we are young. It's more difficult when we're old and have a vested interest in all the ways of doing things we struggled a lifetime to learn, when we've made whatever changes were required to survive and thrive in our own time. Often, as I fasten the seatbelt in the car or put on a helmet to ride my bike, I think about how I balked at doing those things at first. I wanted the feeling of freedom and the wind in my hair,  but these infringements seem minor now when I see the statistics on lives saved and watch people I know suffering from concussions. 

The human race is still on this planet because of our will to live.

That's what finally makes us change. Will Covid 19 and other viruses be able to do what the threats of nuclear war, climate change and the inhumane disparity between rich and poor have been unable to do, make us act as one people on one planet willing to work together to live as equals. Who knows, but as Dylan sang, "The Times They Are a-Changin'."

My friend Lusia at the high point of our walk on Turtle Mountain this Wednesday. In the background you see Lake Okanagan and Terrace Mountain. 

Mo,John and I rode past the fountain at the crossroads as you enter Vernon this week soon after a lot of liquid soap had been dumped into it. The foam was stiff, oozing over the edges and blowing in blobs for quite a distance. The only other person there was an irate older man stuffing the empty detergent bottles into his bike panniers and cursing the kids who had done it. Jay and l joked about it on Kakaotalk that evening. I suggested that it revealed the two extremes of Vernon, angry old men and drug addicted youth. He said the latter wouldn't blow money on soap but agreed that those were the extremes. He added those between: 

A couple of months ago I was informed by Shaw that the PVR machine I had received for free when I originally signed up with them in 2011 was soon to become obsolete. I assumed a technician would contact me and come to do whatever had to be done. I heard nothing more until just after Covid quarantine came into effect, at which point I was told the new machine would arrive soon in the mail and I would be expected to install it myself and return the old one. It arrived a few days later with a note to the effect that it wasn't necessary to return the old one and that I should have no trouble following the installation instructions for the new one, but that if I did need help I could phone or do an on line chat with a Shaw technician. I took the Scarlet O'Hara tack and put it in a cupboard to think about tomorrow. I couldn't believe they would make this big switch during Covid quarantine. Wrong! About a week ago I received notice that the switch would happen today, May 12. So I finally had to take the thing out of the box. I carefully detached the old and attached much of the new but had to phone for tech. support for one connection. I got through quickly. The woman was really understanding but she finally determined one of the connections I'd been sent was wrong. She took a lot of time contacting a Shaw technician who was in Vernon and would deliver the right one before quitting work that night. Well, he didn't.  The next day I cancelled my bike ride and started trying to phone Shaw again. I waited an hour with the phone on speaker while I tried every connection I had in the electrical hold-all drawer I have. I found one that seemed to fit but I wasn't sure and still couldn't get an answer on the phone. Desperate, I decided to try an on line chat. In an instant I was messaging back and forth with a patient and professional person who worked with me for about two hours. When we finally got picture and sound and all systems go, I was so excited I sent an enthusiastic stream of emojis. I received congratulations back. I felt as if I'd made a friend. I am getting to love messaging. It has enabled my first technological breakthrough and messaging on Kakaotalk every night with Jay has been the highlight of my Covid quarantine days. 

The evening of my success, I was happily back to normal watching the tv news when Jay's first Kakao message of the night arrived. He got a laugh when he heard that after all that tech progress I was back in my usual chair watching my usual show, improved means to unimproved ends as Thoreau said. 

Jay hiking last weekend with high school friend Frank who also lives in S. Korea

The tulips and miniature iris in the front yard are especially lovely this spring. 

Covid 19 in Dogpatch:

Don MacMillan used to refer to the area where they lived, on the north east edge of  Wakefield, as Dogpatch. Mela and Don now live in Britannia, on the west side of Ottawa, so I've started to refer to my neighbourhood at the bottom of East Hill in Vernon as Dogpatch. 

Of course neither of our neighbourhoods is as wholly lacking in redeeming qualities as Al Capp's hilarious original, but both have elements of, "an average stone-age community". 

Vernon is nestled among camel coloured hills. The people who live in my part of the 'holler' have irritated and entertained me since I joined them almost ten years ago. Behind me was John, an urban hermit who never went out his back door. I saw him twice. Both times because I went around to his front door to talk to him about property matters. Across the street was Joyce and her fluffy little dog. They mostly sat on her back porch or shuffled into the street to tell me a bit about the old days and the widower who planted the original creeping blue bells that I was trying to pull out and that continue to weave their tenacious roots through my front gardens. John and Joyce are both dead now. Their houses are lived in by young couples who are having babies, planting gardens, jumping on trampolines, tearing down fences and building sheds. 

Donna, the original next door neighbour with the 'issues', remains and so does the enormous Winnebago she hasn't been able to get into for over ten years. It has since been joined by the car she abandoned four years ago, parked behind it. She's always cheery, but I'm happy that I determined when I first met her that she would never get around to clearing up the area between our houses as she assured me she would. I immediately planted the cedar hedge which now almost completely blocks my view of her abandoned vehicles. She also has an old marmalade tomcat that has skulked around my yard killing birds for years. The couple that now lives in John's house with the baby, the trampoline, her young boy, and two dogs also have a tomcat, appropriately named Gunner. My yard is frequently the scene of shrieking cat fights between him and Donna's ancient marmalade.  Gunner wins, if the tufts of orange hair left behind are any indication. Their fights make me angry but my fury is moderated by the fact that Ryan, Gunner's owner is a very friendly guy who always calls, "Hi Jan,"when he sees me in the back yard and asks me questions about gardening. He even gave me a plant, hens and chickens, the other day. He laughingly refers to to the cat fights as 'Fight Club', and I laugh. I just wish Brad Pitt would step on the scene once in a while. The original harpy across the back and next door to Ryan is still in residence.  She's the one with the raucous laugh and foul tongue who upset me so such the first summer I was here that I had to devise a system of fans and CD players to shield my ears. Her loud harangues have become much less frequent over the years. The men, husband and son I think, who were the targets of her tongue and whom she frequently referred  to as, "a couple of fucking losers," seem to have left. Now I hardly hear her except for her daily coughing session from the  balcony most mornings around ten. Across the street is a pair of aging hippies, he has a straggly, grey ponytail and she wears loose fitting blouses and skirts. They sell things at a market and are always either loading or unloading one or other of their almost identical silver grey vans. Another addition to Dogpatch is a quiet young couple two doors down. They are urban back-to-the-landers. Their entire front yard is now a garden. She gave me many varieties of heritage tomatoes to try last summer. We always stop to chat when we pass each other's yards. The true joy of the neighbourhood is a family that moved in about four years ago. They live a few more doors down. He is Sam, a genuinely neighbourly person, and she is Mo, much more reserved but quietly friendly. They live with their two young girls and new baby girl in a tiny yellow house that she has redesigned on the inside. She studied carpentry and  her work is both creative and well finished. For three years now I have had dinners at their place on Christmas Eve and Mother's Day. 

These are the neighbours who keep me entertained in these days of quarantine, especially in the early evenings. Between 4:30 and 7:30pm, the young families go outside. Social distancing is maintained, of course, but kids at least see each other as they jump on the trampoline, walk, bike or scooter around the block. We have had wonderful weather this spring but not enough rain. I make a point of weeding or watering at this time so I can say hi to and watch my fellow residents of Dogpatch. 

The young woman across the street using the post hole auger, preparing to build a new fence. Usually she and her husband work together but he's not around today. 

Blake died on May 1. Jay told me that many friends have been talking about Blake these past days, sharing memories and pictures. He sent me some of the pictures. This is my favorite.