Writing Outside At The Anchorage Cafe

You know how you have those romantic ideals about certain scenarios or adventures. Like a mini fantasy that has become stuck in your brain after seeing it on a TV ad, cheesy show, or reading about it in a book. Well, I have plenty of them.

I’ve got the one about horse-back riding  on a deserted Caribbean beach at sunset. Hunky soul mate optional.

The one where I am enjoying a glass of wine and reading a book for pleasure, leisurely, with nothing more important in the world that needs to be done, in a spotlessly clean and peaceful house.

And then there’s the writer one, where I am in a Parisian cafe, you know - one of the cafe’s that you are allowed to linger at your leisure over a strong and ridiculously overpriced cup and that attracted the likes of Sartre, Hemingway and other genius writers in the twenties and thirties. In my version I am writing a few well chosen “bon mots” in the late afternoon - genius always sleeps in you know - absentmindedly chewing on a biscuit, my concentration only broken to  give a polite nod to Gerard Depardieu, who is chainsmoking his way through a script in the corner, or to give a high five to Feist as she strolls in for a soup du jour.

Ok, so I am not in Paris, but I am in Newfoundland to write, so I finally decided to take the laptop out to a cafe here in St. John’s. You know, show it around.

After walking the downtown strip, I ended up at the new Anchorage cafe out on Water Street. I don’t know exactly why, but I think I am drawn to it because of its old house vibe, and nice natural lighting. I am nuts about the latter.

It’s not over remodelled, or too shiny, so the old house bones still show. It’s what I would call my fave kind of cozy. Not that it matters - I am sitting outside. Why? But it’s Sept 4th and the rain has stopped and I have this other thing where I have to stay outdoors as much as possible before winter - to get my fill before we get cooped up inside.

I am sitting outside on the sidewalk in a tiny aluminum bistro table, somewhat conspicuously typing on my 17 inch laptop. Tourists heading down from the Big Fairmont, Hometel and Battery hotels on the east side of the city pass me on the narrow sidewalk and stare - just a bit.

I don’t care. It’s nice outside. Which is another ideal of mine - to be able to sit outside in the afternoon, writing away on something of my own choice, rather than to sit in a downtown office under flourescent lights where the windows don’t open.

I can see the harbour water out of the corner of my left eye as I type which is too cute. The Anchorage has  wireless and so I can type directly to this blog.

i just had a pizza. Pretty cheap at $4.50. More like a toaster oven pizza where you melt the toppings over ready-made pizza crusts, so it was nothing special, but it was cheesy and crisp and and it hit the spot. The young man behind the counter laughed at the joke I made when I asked him about all the different coffees.

It was a perfect afternoon.

NB. The photo above is the from the upstairs at The Anchorage - not the outside patio where I was sitting.  I will be retreating there when the cold comes.

A Year Under the Newfoundland Sun

[On traveling, review of A Year in Provence and Under The Tuscan Sun ]

While I was getting ready for my big move to Newfoundland, I let myself do some non-censored wild mind dreaming, and a thought came up that I entertained for a bit. My thought was  - why don’t I write about my travels? You know, a travelogue - or travelblog I guess, of my move and adventures out east, then turn them into a movie.

I told my life coach, Sue. Yes, I had one at the time. She said “yes” “brilliant” “of course.”  I like talking to Sue much better than my family members who said “maybe you can get a government job out there.”

Yes, yes. I’ll write a book and a film -  “My Year in Newfoundland” or “Under the Avalon Peninsula Fog.”

And I ran with it. Yeppir, it’ll make a great movie. It’ll be a hit all over the world, and it will make me a millionaire, and I’d never have to work again. Nope, I’d just ride my horses on the beach, read books for pleasure, and travel for the rest of my life, sitting  in various cafes where I’d feign writing.

I am nothing without my dreams.

So in May, I picked up “A year in Provence” by Peter Mayle.  I paid full price for it so you know I was serious.

I had known about the book for some time. It came out when I was still married to that Belgian guy, and I was curious and will have to admit, jealous. You see, I do not know how to be a writer. I was trained to be an employee.

But I never read it back then. Man - never had the time. Didn’t know how to make time either.

So, when I finally got it in May, I was a bit apprehensive. I had read tons of reviews, and was worried it might be a bit twee or precious, or perhaps a tad arrogant, in that English way of thumbing their nose on the common people. And I thought I might hate it because of that.

But I am happy to say I liked it. Oh, there was a tad of twee to the book - a jolly English superficiality. Mayle doesn’t go very deep and we never learn much about him, not even his wife’s name, but he described the rich earthiness of the provencal landscape beautifully  and and made fun of the visitors who came and fell ill at the whiff of a garlic bud.

Wow. I do the latter too. Cool.

I was too cheap to splurge on Under The Tuscan Sun so almost freaked out when I found it on the bookshelf of the house here in St. John’s where I am staying. Yup - right there on the shelf tucked in between Ray, Klute and The Magdalene Sisters.

Ok. Now that one was harder to like. Syrupy. Shmaltzy. Predictable. Unbelievable. And what was it ultimately about? I dunno…it bounced all over the place, changing direction at whim, leading to the inevitable ending where she finds her dream man in the last few frames.

But here’s the thing. In both the stories - remember I read one and watched the other - the protagonist moves to a foreign land, buys a rundown manse of a house that needs a bit of work, then proceeds to spend the rest of the year renovating it, without having to do any real work.

Come on!

Not only that, they get to employ a motley crew of renovators who work full time for them. Yup, they pay the salaries of 3 people full time - and they don’t work. And they drink fine wine and eat at great restaurants.

Who are these people?  How did they get so loaded? They’re writers forchrissakes. How come I am not so loaded?

Come on!

I want that. I want to buy a house and have my big dilemma be what colour tile to put in the kitchen, contractors that become family, have one heartbreak, learn to let loose a little, and find my soulmate at the end.

Ha ha. Shoot me if that’s the plot of my movie.

OK. So I Missed A Few Days

OK. So I Missed A Few Days. All right. A lot.

I’ve been busy?

Yes, yes that’s it.

I took some pictures though.
Here’s the Battery. This is where I want to live.

Celebrating My First 5 Weeks in Newfoundland.

I’ve been here in st. John’s for 5 weeks and 2 days. And I have to say it’s been a resounding success. In other words - I loooovvvvvvvvve it.*

Sure, there’ve been a few of those “I’ve made a huge mistake”  moments  - a phrase that will kill me forever thanks to Will Arnett’s impeccably comic delivery in Arrested Development. Gawd I love that show.

The first “moment” came when I first got here and got a ride to the Futureshop to buy a new 24 inch  LCD screen for my computer since I didn’t want to lug my 65 lb CRT tube monitor all the way from Toronto. I asked the sales person 3 times if he was sure the supplied cable would  work with my MAC. No, 4 times. I’m sure.

Well, of course it didn’t work. And  I spent the whole day and the next trying to figure it out - half of which was spent figurin out where this Futureshop was and how was I supposed to get back out there and how does the bus system work and how I was supposed to do that without an umbrella in this neverending pissing rain. The other half was trying to figure out the cryptic code in what the monitor manufacturer called their product manual.

Yup. I was felled with consumer woes. An embarrassing malaise over how I was supposed to shop without subway trains coming every 5 minutes taking me to consumer heaven. Or the lack of flat roads for easy cycling.

Yup. I was felled. Until a fruitful Google search alerted me to the problem - I had to switch the setting of my monitor from the default setting to match my new $50 dollar (gasp) DVI cable.

The second time was after meeting another ex-Toronto-er. He’d been here 3 years and when I asked if he still liked it he took the question very seriously and answered it without any sugar coating.

Now don’t get me wrong. I hate sugar coaters who give a thumbs up to everything and appreciate honesty- I’ve been jammed up enough by denial enough and and believe a hefty dose of skepticism can keep you alive.  And yes, I did agree with half of what he had to say, but man - I was really miserable after I left the guy’s store.  Just deflated. Total yuck.

I walked down the street wiping the mist from my glasses, wondering what this mist shit was and thinking “I’ve made a big mistake” before I remembered that hey - I practice zen. Zen eases all suffering. So - I said to myself - hey, man - what’s going on? Yesterday you were so happy tears of joy were running down your face in a pub, and today  you want to throw yourself into the harbour?

And I smiled and and thought  - yup - look at that. Look at the the extreme differences in the way our thoughts can make us feel. And how you can go from heaven to hell so quickly.

Big lesson remembered - don’t believe your thoughts. And catch them when you can. Plus for me -  be careful and stop absorbing other peoples’ shit. Or shitty attitudes.

The third time was 2 days ago, the Tuesday after Labour Day long weekend. I had been sitting at my desk all day working to finish a web site - Down to the Dirt for all ye fans of the film and book, and I went for a walk afterwards to regrow my neck, which tends to disappear with each passing moment in front of the computer screen.

While walking downtown, I picked up an abandoned ghost-town feeling - a difference in the energy. Like the day the circus leaves town. The day the Ex packs up. And I panicked and went right to - wwwahhhh, it’s too small here. Nothing’s happening. I am going to die of boredom and mist asphyxiation.

So, yes, we see extreme thinking can often happen with me.

But then I reminded myself it was a Tuesday. And by St. John’s standards, it was still pretty early. And sure enough, a few minutes later, I bumped into someone I knew at The Victory. And we came upon the Rose and Thistle, which was packed for Trivia night, and the crowds from the the Grapevine next door spilled onto the street and made merry. And I felt less alone, felt the energy and aliveness that the city exudes and that I adore. And once again tears streamed down my face.

So yeah. I looooovvvve it here. The move to NL just fits me so well - like jumping into my favourite baby sleeper with feetsies. Enveloped in stretch cotton, warm and safe.

And I do love it. I do.

PS. I am not making that tear stuff up. I am very weepy, and have decided to no longer hold it back and pretend nothing hurts to fit our war culture. Some stuff does hurt and it’s better to pay attention to it  - call it what it is. Hey, it’s not like I am uber sucky and prim, proper and precious either, so it is what it is.

* That “* ” signifies  a little “in joke” which comes from a video I made with Kelly Davis last March. In the video, entitled “Kelly Ds famous Walking Tours” -  Kelly looks out onto the horizon and proclaims that she  can’t believe she’s been in St. John’s for 4 years - and that she indeed looooooovvvvvvveeeessss it.

PSS. That video is very stulted do to my not knowing how to edit on a PC and every time I tried to edit a cut, I just cut the video clip shorter and  shorter - and just gave up. I’m not so good with that patience thing.

Event Calendar

Yikes. I Should’ve Been Blogging

I should have been blogging, but I haven’t been blogging. My big beautiful blogging dream was to start this  months ago, during the prep time for my big move to Newfoundland from Toronto. I was going to talk about all the trials and craziness that happens when one packs up and goes. I was going to chronicle my drive out to the rock of an island in a Ford Escape rental that I won (and the drive back) and about my daily escapades in St. John’s as they happened.

That’s the problem with big idealistic dreams. They are really hard to fulfill.

I didn’t do that. In fact all I did was take pictures and videos of my drive and the last 2 weeks here. The pictures I have downloaded and backed up to disc, but the videos will probably stay on mini-dv for another few years.

Because it’s really hard to do all the things you want to do, when all that living stuff that you have to do gets in the way. I have often wished I had an extra day in the week that noone knew about. An eighth day that lives in a crazy dimension, that’s only accessible to me. Lately I wish I had 2 of these secret days.

So those stories I wanted to tell of worrying, packing, driving, and meeting will have to wait their day. The  pics of great meals and the videos of beautiful views, scenes, moose and jelly-fish will continue getting backlogged as I take more of St. John’s scenes and the people I meet and talk to.

But I am here. I am in St. John’s, Newfoundland. My cats survived the flight, and seem to have forgiven me. The relentless rain, cold, foggy misty weather that started since I got here finally let up yesterday and the city is embraced by a gorgeous warm wind.

Written while sitting in Coffee and Company on Water St, while checking out their free wireless, and sitting as close to the door as possible so I can get some of that summer breeze.

WANTED - Moving To St. John’s Newfoundland Tips

A call out to all ye who have experienced a cross-province move, or a move of any kind once you have acquired years of house junk.

I am looking for the best way to move from Toronto to St. John’s. On the cheap  - because I don’t have a company giving me a 10k move allowance. I asked and I said no back.

Here’s the thing. I do not know how to move. I have never done it permanently. I’ve just run away with knap sacks.

My ideal would be to get rid of everything since most of it came from garage sales or Ikea, anyway. But then I look at my stack of books and feel an OCD attack come on: “what if I need that book that I haven’t read in 25 years!” “I don’t have time or money to replace watermelon ballers, drills, bits and pizza stones.” “No really, I WILL fit into those pants again.”

Plus Kelly Davis told me there’s no Ikea in Newfoundland. Gasp. No Ikea! Does that mean everyone buys real furniture?

One thing I know I definitely will need is my brand spanking new Second Dan Tae Kwon Do Black Belt Trophy. I think it will look lovely in my china cabinet.

Gotcha, I don’t have a china cabinet anymore. I sold it on Facebook Marketplace - which I heartily recommend as it worked out very well. But I do have china - I got it when I did that marriage thing way back. At least my china pattern had staying power.

OK, so here’s your chance to help a pack rat move and leave her “baggage” behind. My mission - to start a new simple, unencumbered zen life in Newfoundland.

Is it worth it to haul over my stuff? Mostly kitchen things like a toaster, blender, food processor, egg cups and baking tins. Then I do have some books. Lots of Christmas decorations. And the basement dwellers, like skates, crowbars, and painting equipment.

I really wish I had my art supplies here. I have huge urges to paint.

And if I did wish it all were with me, does anyone have suggestions for a moving company?

PS. Go ahead and click on the pic. I know you want one of these.

I Am Moving To Newfoundland

I am moving to Newfoundland.

Yes, Newfoundland.

Not New York like I always dreamed about. Not Paris, like I sometimes wished, nor even LA like I was thinking about last summer.

Nope, I am moving to Newfoundland.