Happy enough. For now.

Somehow it seemed like a good idea. The day was a little misty but it wasn’t raining late afternoon and I read in the local paper that Joe Stanton was back at the Backeddy Pub in Egmont. On March 14, 2020, we went to there for supper, to hear Joe, and realized driving home that it was probably the last time we’d eat a meal out until, well, when? Until now. (There was actually a dinner out, on a deck, last summer, when our infection numbers were low. But then we were isolating ourselves before John’s fall surgery, and after, and by then it had become habit.) Driving the Egmont Road felt kind of exciting. You can see in the photograph John took that the tables are well-spaced and there’s always a breeze off Jervis Inlet where the mountains on the other side were wreathed in cloud. But as Joe sang the opening bars of “Here Comes the Sun”, it had the desired effect!

Here comes the sun do, do, do
Here comes the sun
And I say it’s all right

The sun came out, not wildly bright, but lovely, and the Lake Breeze Pinot Blanc was cold and delicious. I had the excellent steelhead tacos. John ordered the pork belly. And when we saw Nancy and Ian Mackay at a table around the corner, we invited them to join us. “Had your shot?” “First one. Second one in a few weeks.” We weren’t six feet apart but no one hugged or shook hands. We talked for ages—our children all went to the Pender Harbour schools together and Ian and I served on a health board together for years; he was also my go-to person when I had a commercial fishing question. But the years pass and we almost never see them any more. So how nice it was to sit near the water, sharing news—grandchildren, the upcoming halibut season, dogs. And while we talked, Joe sang the old sweet songs. Neil Young, Joni Mitchell (“A Case of You”, one of my favourites ever), Leonard Cohen.

Little darling, it’s been a long cold lonely winter
Little darling, it seems like years since it’s been here

Coming home I forget to stop to photograph the white waterlilies on North Lake. Now it’s 3:24 and I can’t sleep, filled with hope that maybe life is not returning to normal exactly but that it’s taking a new form that just might be lovely. Sea breezes, fish tacos, conversation with old friends, and the sun coming out at exactly the right moment. One pundit on the CBC the other day cautioned against too much optimism, saying that the Delta variant poses a whole lot of questions, and we should all be very careful because we might just be about to step on a rake. I’ll probably feel that way tomorrow, wait, later today, but for now, in a dark house with the prospect of sun in the morning, listening to Joe’s own song, “Light Rain with a Dark Roast“, I’m happy enough. For now.

Here comes the sun
And I say it’s all right