We rose before the chickens today, needing to head to town.
Into the car we hauled a cello, a change of clothes, a camera, various pieces of high-tech communication devices, a freshly assembled caffeinated concoction, reading material, one adult and one child.
We reached the ferry line-up, already at the cut-off point, but secure in the knowledge that this spot in the line always meant there’d be room for us to board.
We needed to be on that 7.30 ferry, you see. The Princess was due to perform in the Kiwanis Festival in the Dunbar area of Vancouver (oh, so ironically about nine minutes from our old house on West Fifth) and with morning traffic, time to warm up and stay calm, we were giving ourselves lots of time.
As we approached the terminal the traffic slowed uncharacteristically. No no no no no, I chanted inside. We have to be on this ferry.
The ferry man waved his hand. Down went the gate, even with six cars in front of us.
The eyes of the Princess were wide. “Oh-oh.”
I took four seconds to weigh my options.
“Let’s go. Get your cello and we’ll grab a taxi on the other side.”
We left the car, coffee, camera, clothes in the line-up, raced down the sidewalk to where the ferry man saw our waves, raised the gate and let us on.
Aboard the Queen of Capilano the adrenalin rush had us shaking and breathing hard. What now?
On the chance that He Who Works On The Thirty-Third Floor might have a clear calendar we called to see if he’d pick us up from the terminal and get us to the church on time.
Other than having missed an important ferry, arrival at the church was timely and this all seemed to be working quite smoothly.
And where might the Princess warm up prior to the recital?
Oh, very sorry, said the man in charge. You’re not allowed to warm up. You’re supposed to arrive already warmed up. If you need to warm up you can do that in your car although I see that may be difficult with a cello. Well, you may warm up in the parking lot.
And so she did, feeling very Yo-Yo Mah-esque.
After a few run-throughs we returned indoors, took our place and waited our turn.
Truly, my little one did very well. The adjudicator called her playing ‘thoughtful’ and ‘gentle.’ You can hear Yo-yo’s version here.
Well, as He Who Works was flying off to Toronto tonight anyway, we dumped him at the office, stole his car and returned to the ferry terminal. His parting words, by the way, regarding the other vehicle we’d left at the roadside back on Bowen, were that we’d probably get a ticket. Ah, but we’d made the ferry, remember? We were still heady with that success.
We made the noon sailing with no trouble at all and within a few minutes were disembarking and glancing down the street for my car.
Hmmmm. How far back had I been?
Hmmmmm.
My car. Not there.
No panic of course, because who steals anything on Bowen? We don’t lock our doors much less our cars (that’s how we can tell who the tourists are…!) because if someone steals your TV they’ll still have to wait in line for the ferry.
The Princess suggested we talk to the police. One RCMP detachment on Bowen, population 2.
I walked in.
“May I help you?”
Well, I seem to have misplaced my vehicle.
“Ohhh. You must be Lois.”
My friends, this is a big burly leather-booted kevlar-vested side-armed boy in blue we’re talking about. He stuck out his hand: “I’m Brian.”
I love this place.
My car?
“Well, call Bill. He’ll know. Maybe he sent Kiwi to get it.”
Bill owns the local towing company. I don’t know who Kiwi is.
I apologize to my new friend Brian for leaving my car unattended at the side of the road and tell him why I had to be on that ferry.
“I see,” he says, looking at the Princess. “Well? How’d she do?”
She came in first, I say.
“Well in that case I won’t write you a ticket. But you will have to pay Bill for the towing.”
Oh, don’t you worry about that.
So I call Bill the tow guy. He answers his phone but tells me he’s out in Howe Sound fishing for crabs: “I’ll get Kiwi to call you.”
Kiwi turns out to be someone named Gary who apologizes over and over for having towed my car. It’s all right, I say. It was my fault.
“Yes, but I feel so bad because now I have to charge you.”
It’s all right, I say. It was my fault.
“Yes but–” Poor guy. Now I feel bad.
With a friend I drive out to pick up my car. Gary tells me he was checking my tires and saw one had a slow leak, pierced by a nail. Could I wait a minute while he fixes it?
***
I do love this little island. From the ferry meister who raised the gate so mother, child and cello could get on board to the police officer who apologized for having had to call the tow truck to the tow guy who pulled the nail from the tire.
And yes, the Princess really did take first place. I wasn’t simply saying that to butter up Constable Brian.
A nice place to come home to.
Read Full Post »
The Country Mice 