We arrived home from our almost-month-long trip just prior to last weekend. In the end, we both felt the need to get into our own home and our beds. The last part of our trip, our Val Marie time, was somewhat dampened by the less-than-stellar state of our B&B. The owner has a great facility for making the ordinary sound wonderful. We fell for the pitch, and found the digs cramped and somewhat unsatisfactory for $100 a day.
Driving home, I was impressed with the way in which the simple act of sitting in a car all day quite tiring. A symptom of advancing age, I imagine. I was glad to get my feet on terra firma again. It took us more than a day to unpack, wash clothes and get re-oriented to home. We managed to attend worship together on Beatrix' last Sunday of vacation.
The rush of current events caught up to us last evening. Our political party's nomination meeting for our constituency was held Monday evening. Two candidates, one a senior and very experienced male, the other a young Aboriginal woman. The man one. He'll be a good candidate, if a bit of a maverick. He may give our very conservative Conservative MP a good run for his money. It will be his last campaign, as he is 65, and a representative of a long past of service. The young woman, unseasoned, but bright, is the face of the next election, and our party's future. But as the Cons say of Justin Trudeau, "she just isn't ready."
My enthusiasm for the party's national aspirations are not matched by those for my own riding. I think our candidate is too much of a lone wolf, too out-of-step with party strategy, to make a huge impact. There is no doubt that he is a good speaker, and very knowledgeable. He tends to do too much on his own, without calling on the resources of others, and he just can't be everyplace at once.
I'm in the midst of a very slow time for me, a chance to write a bit and ponder life. Likely a very good thing to do at this juncture of my life. I have decisions to make about what I will spend my energy on this winter, and what, if anything, I will write. My time of writing for the local paper is about at an end, and I see no other valid avenues for me right now. So I ponder and watch, and wait. And listen.
I'm finding that my attention span for reading is shrinking, as is my enthusiasm. That's something new for me, and I hope it changes. It may, on the other hand, be one of those things about which I must the 'courage to accept the thing I cannot change.'
As my ex-mother in law was wont to say, "more anon."
Driving home, I was impressed with the way in which the simple act of sitting in a car all day quite tiring. A symptom of advancing age, I imagine. I was glad to get my feet on terra firma again. It took us more than a day to unpack, wash clothes and get re-oriented to home. We managed to attend worship together on Beatrix' last Sunday of vacation.
The rush of current events caught up to us last evening. Our political party's nomination meeting for our constituency was held Monday evening. Two candidates, one a senior and very experienced male, the other a young Aboriginal woman. The man one. He'll be a good candidate, if a bit of a maverick. He may give our very conservative Conservative MP a good run for his money. It will be his last campaign, as he is 65, and a representative of a long past of service. The young woman, unseasoned, but bright, is the face of the next election, and our party's future. But as the Cons say of Justin Trudeau, "she just isn't ready."
My enthusiasm for the party's national aspirations are not matched by those for my own riding. I think our candidate is too much of a lone wolf, too out-of-step with party strategy, to make a huge impact. There is no doubt that he is a good speaker, and very knowledgeable. He tends to do too much on his own, without calling on the resources of others, and he just can't be everyplace at once.
I'm in the midst of a very slow time for me, a chance to write a bit and ponder life. Likely a very good thing to do at this juncture of my life. I have decisions to make about what I will spend my energy on this winter, and what, if anything, I will write. My time of writing for the local paper is about at an end, and I see no other valid avenues for me right now. So I ponder and watch, and wait. And listen.
I'm finding that my attention span for reading is shrinking, as is my enthusiasm. That's something new for me, and I hope it changes. It may, on the other hand, be one of those things about which I must the 'courage to accept the thing I cannot change.'
As my ex-mother in law was wont to say, "more anon."
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