- Details
- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Blog
- Hits: 1364
Now, largely over the summit of the longest weekend of the year.
And there's no overstating the "Long Weekend" bit. Busy, crazy, walk-in tables of 10, 14 and even 30. Why would you need a reservation for 30 people? That's just crazy. No place else on the lake would have 'em is why, but we have boundary issues. Late tables, coming in at 9:00, Ten, twenty minutes after nine, we're still taking 'em, there until 11:00 at night, later than town, every server's nightmare.
Just hold your breath and get through it.
On a more positive note, Friday, yard sale in Balfour, sent staff to do my treasure hunting, came away with:
Which is a masterpiece of sorts. It needs a new lining and fixture for the clasp, but - on it's own, as is, it's a masterpiece. I'm going to make it my "Murse".
The weather - hot, humid, smoky, with a high chance of Covid. We've taken up the masks again. Except for the owner's son, who's "conscientiously objecting" by not wearing one. Other than the owners I'm the only member of staff to have gotten a vaccination.
There was the promise of rain - but, less rain than a general dampening of the roads, a humid nudging of the pavement. No rain to speak of.
And - rumor has it that the infections have come closer to home - another local pub has closed due to it. Funny, they never closed for TB or the hundreds of STD's that pass through it on a nightly basis, but they closed for the COVID.
For the moment that's it. Just survive today and tomorrow will be a day off.
- Details
- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Blog
- Hits: 1430
The past couple of days off...
Tuesday, Smoky, attempts to avoid the smoke, find clean air by a quick trip to Creston over the Kootenay Pass - Clearer, for sure, but - still the smoke.
Pictures below - from the restaurant, from the town:
.
Patios closed due to air quality. And dining indoors everyone - staff - is wearing masks. The virus is here.
Wednesday the air clears - surprisingly, and so I make a quick trip to the Valley, drive some new roads to new summits, abundant pegmatites, black tourmaline, garnets, feldspar, quartz - dozens of them, the whole drive should be walked over a period of weeks. The jeep sputteringly obliges, takes me to the top:
Sprays of black tourmaline in feldspar...
larger garnets in Feldspar
Motor chariot gasping at the summit.
Abundant spurs to explored, this place itself warrants a thousand holes - "it's here" understates it, there's treasure here for sure, but to find it. And all the way up the same and same again...
Roll the car down, much to return for and too little time. This weekend is another summit - the August long - the air is clear, forecast to 38 degrees, the restaurant will be a complete and utter madhouse. I have no stomach for this, I've done my time, and the owners trying to nudge me to stay on over the winter - when I've already sacrificed in the entirety my summer - well....
It's one day at a time, and I take comfort in the uncertainty of the world...the whole area could burn down, the plague could reach the restaurant - where none of the cooks or other staff have been vaccinated, there's a thousand end-of-the world comforting scenarios that could free me up to my own devices....
But for now it's back to work.
- Details
- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Blog
- Hits: 1314
The smoke, it's as if we're living through the end of days.
The all day sunset light, abysmal, coppery and bronze hues on the lake, the sun, you can stare at it, feel the punishing heat, it blazes through grey smoke and still we're burning up.
The rough throats, watering eyes, the smoke sticking to you, nosing, nuzzling you, the headlights at night blaze for not a hundred feet before falling off, the sun, setting over the western mountains disappears into smoke long before it goes behind the mountain.
I'm drowning here, chewing every breath.
Scorched plants line the highway, not yet burnt, merely dried up and withering, autumn's come a few months early, yellowing grass and burnt orange and brown leaves, those still green crumble in your hand.
Leaving town to go to work, the crazy people in the street, lunatics, drug-addled, loudly arguing with cars, a guitar on his back, book in hand, silhouetted against the smoke, the beggar in front of the liquor store diagnosing every customer - "You're insane. You're not". These are surreal, fantastical images from movies like 12 Monkeys, any movie, really, that dealt with this, and I'm getting a de-ja-vue.
Then there's the outbreaks, speaking to other servers, restaurants already short staffed, at half capacity for servers, now being tested with the virus, one pub, half staffed and then losing over a couple of days 5 servers to the virus - 2 weeks off, and then what? How many more?
Rumors of other outbreaks. If, when it hits us we'll close. Our kitchen, almost completely unvaccinated. I follow the news - look for the news of the outbreaks here - none specific to Nelson, but 85 new cases in one day, all in the Interior Health Region, More than the rest of BC combined.
Today, my day off, noticing everywhere in town waiters are wearing their masks. These aren't just rumors.
The ash from the fires, raining slowly, a fine dirty film that stains the tables, chairs, cushions, air visibly too dirty to breathe and it settles upon everything.
And the restaurant, throughout it all we're getting slammed - empty, all day, then - just as the owner's son is planning his early departure (too soon! Too Soon!) we get slammed, fill up, inside, out, on the beach, they keep coming like it's like some sort of Zombie Apocalypse, vacationers at the end of the world, we're the only show open for 20 miles, coming all the way from Nelson to share their Covid, infect us...
It's no wonder no one wants to do this job. No wonder at all, and these unpredictable rushes, the smoke, pandemic, they've made it worse.
Now the owners want to make a plan, sit down with me, they want to stay open over the winter - if I'm interested?
I'm not, not in the least, this is hell and I'm working towards a definite end, it's been too much, too long, but - how to be discreet?
And - in any event - I've a ticket to a rave, in the valley, August 21, family reunion of sorts, expecting the kids, and even this is presumptive - how to plan anything when the world is falling apart, burning up, falling over sick and dying? It's impossible, my thoughts even at the moment are one day at a time...
- Details
- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Blog
- Hits: 1161
This morning wake up to the smell of campfires. For a moment - just a moment - I think to myself that the house is on fire. But it's fine. It's the world that's on fire.
The nearby mountains, invisible, eyes watering, you need to chew before you can breathe.
It's intolerable, and we're not yet even close to August.
Check the news to ensure there are no fires closer - time again to reconsider that flight bag - I can pack everything I own into the jeep, and probably should take an hour or two to do so - and I'm wondering - how long will the restaurant last in this? Soon, I imagine, there will be an exodus of tourists - and then?
Day to day.
- Details
- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Blog
- Hits: 1192
The week at work, bananas, crazy, busy, busier, never caught up, long days grown longer, the mid-shift sucking up my mornings and nights.
And the smoke from the fires - a month and a half early, choking out the morning, the evening half-slip of the moon a blood-orange-red in the sky, spectacular sunsets for those with the time to take the pictures.
By Monday I'm done. We're all done, drinks in town, I take it easy, a couple of pints of Guinness, got to be functional on my days off.
Tuesday, my reaction to the second dose of the Vaccine. I was warned it would be worse than the first. The first, a swelling around my neck, the lymph nodes grown over large, lasted a couple of days. This time, it's my upper lip, swells like a chimpanzees or orangutans, numb, large.
The day, attending to trifles. Eat tacos. Cover them in hot sauce, try and balance the diet. Clean out the fridge, eat - whatever, everything, all of it, I'm starving, not just for food but nutrition, I'm missing it all in my diet. Go thrifting - no finds, hit the antique shop - some treasures, but nothing that I want - or need.
(Locks, 1880's, love the detail on the faceplates that no-one would think to look at. But do I need them?)
The weekend past was great for garage sales - or - not great - but I found some necessary tools, and a boxing cushion and gloves which I passed on to the twin bus-girls at work. "Get trained" I tell them. "Foxy boxing - Sibling Rivalry - I've already started selling tickets.".
I don't think they were impressed. My daughter, she'd have been over the moon, but they're a little more sheltered.
The weekend provided the finds, there are none this week in the thrift shops.
Do the recycle, the laundry, the dishes, make more dishes, eat, eat, eat. I'm starving.
Afternoon, sleep off the heat of the day, strange dreams of garage sales, Jeff Bezos, Water Bottles...
Evening. Visit Stormy. Verify he's home, go to DQ to buy him an Ice Cream, return. Knock on the door. It takes him 10 minutes to answer. And he answers, the door closed, just enough for him to slip through, but the air!!! Who will know when he's dead? The smell, already it's as if he's died. And it must penetrate the neighbors suites...
Sit for a bit. He's out of it, was interrupted, answered with a clutch of scrolls half completed, he complains about the ice cream, about everything, the time I visit, and I've no patience for it, these days off are too rare to be here, in this heat, with him complaining about the ice cream that's melting in the front of his scooter, and I'm off...
Home, watch "Ong-Bak", "Rick and Morty", but nothing excites me. The job, the schedule, it's flattened me, I need out of myself in a big way and there's nothing that's doing it. I'm flat. Flat like I've been steamrolled, flat in that all the colorful bits of me, my curiosity, creativity, they're kaput.
Today much the same. A few of the farther flung thrift shops - no finds, or perhaps there were, only my mood has blinded me.
There are endless trifles to be dealt with, my benefits, chores, there would be - on less grey days - prospecting to be done, socializing, but I'm self conscious about my lip (in the morning, the entire face, but over the day it drains and disperses), and I'm flat. Without any ambition other than survival - 7 weeks to go, and 2 weeks to cross the summit - the August Long Weekend - this is becoming a long - the longest - summer ever.
I make plans. There's a party in the valley - August 21 - I get tickets. Me, the kids. Maybe they'll make it, maybe they won't - but it's something to look forward to regardless.
And I brood upon my writing - projects outstanding, art projects, there's a hundred ways to constructively fill my time - but I'm exhausted.
There's a rumor of a new waitress, she's due to start, train, if she starts - if - my schedule might get a little more reasonable, survivable - but that's a big IF. We've hired dozens in the past few years - few have had any skills. Fewer have lasted. Still -
This job - like the Italian place - it's the monkey's paw - you have to get someone else to take it before you can be free of it's curse - and I'm thinking that it's too late, it's done it's number on me.
Anyways, that catches me up, more or less, to the present.