VANCOUVER - Anyway the Wind Blows

Having been a bit of a social butterfly for the past few weeks I've found my way into a few other circles of St. Francis life besides those directly related with youth type matters. One of the most interesting is the bi-weekly home study group who, as well as offering me copious amounts of food and furniture, have some fabulous stories of travels past and their own journeys to Vancouver (seeing as how skiing and snowboarding are reduced to the level of 'past-times' around here,
finding a born and bred Vancouverite in West Vancouver is, apparently, what passes locally for extreme sport) and advice about living in the city. And, obviously, they ask what I've been up to in the past week.

So I reel off my list. Wake up early, drive kids to band practice, take dog for walk in lush forest park, drive Mercedes out to large house across town to look after some other children, go with them to country club and maybe go curling or play a little badmington (depending on which courts are open, y'know) Maybe head to the office or do the work on someone's wireless laptop in a nice coffee shop, before driving the Mercedes along a ridiculously beautiful section of highway to the study group. And most people, at that point, nod a bit and tell me of their similar happenings (if they're, like me, a desperate housewife) or of their job in a ridiculously beautiful office somewhere across town (if they, like me, have a ridiculously beautiful office. Well, okay, it's not *that* beautiful. But the building it resides in sure is) and away we go on some conversation usually ending with a theory on when the snow which is gathering on the peaks at Cypress or Grouse Mountain is going to get heavy enough for the skiing season to begin. Such is life.


One boy and his Mercedes. Treasure the picture. This scene shalt not be repeated in hither boy's life again. Until he nexteth housesit, of course.

One person, though, always responds a little differently. He screws up his eyes a little. He smiles. And then he says to me: "this isn't real, you know. People don't actually live like this." And he's completely right. They don't. I've been in suburbs of major cities, and quite recently too, where running water if an optional extra and six hours of cut power at the height of the summer heat is regarded as a good day (and it's not like these things are for using an AC unit. This is just for turning on the one hob ring to make dinner) So what is 'real life' and does this weird lifestyle actually count?

Real life is such a hard concept to define, I think, because the standards we measure it against are constantly shifting around. Shit happens; life's what goes on as you attempt to dodge it, get as little on your shoes as possible and blame somebody else when folks ask you what that awful smell on you is. What seems to happen in this town, though, is that folks try to set their ideal life standards in such a way as to try and make themselves immune to the changeability of life. The weather is a good example of this since Vancouver, on a natural level, has delightfully random standards. In the course of a day, we can go from bright and clear skys through to monsoons on the highway.


Downtown Vancouver. Somewhere, off frame, the clouds are impatiently gathering. Waiting to roll on in and start causing a ruckus.

Yet the lifestyle makes little or no concessions to the weather. The city is designed around the car, there are few outdoor activities which have not been replicated indoors (and often on a larger scale) The lifestyle operates through a combination of routine and careful execution. Even the change of the seasons is catered for, with separate cabin visiting in the winter offsetting the overseas travel of the summer and baking rituals in the fall. That said, there are a plethora of weddings and funerals in any given month here. Life still finds a way of throwing in the unexpected. The question is; is there enough room for the unexpected in the West Vancouver lifestyle? And, more to the point, where does God fit in? He who has historically shown great impatience with lifestyles which are controlled, categorised and easily referenced?

I sense that my youth ministry will revolve around trying to find an answer to that question, and being in a place where I can throw in a few curve balls of my own to mix things up a little. To do that, though, I can't be where I am now. I need to be across town in North Vancouver, in my new apartment where I cat might be swung if only it's an ickle, docile one. And I need to get there in my new car, a busted up Chevvy with such endearing quirks as a driver's door which may or may not choose to open when shoved hard from the inside. But someone still needs to give me that wireless laptop I was talking about. Let's not get silly about this, people...