My time learning how to snowboard and drawing inspiration from the winter landscape in Quebec’s Laurentian Mountains has come to an end. These past months have brought to the surface memories of snow covered landscapes and life in a francophone community from my childhood in the maritimes.
The end of the ski season is looming nearer, and I spent the past week cramming in hours on the slopes with predictions of, ‘This is probably the last good day of skiing/boarding left!’ repeated from one day to the next.
I am reading The Art of Learning by Josh Waitzkin, slowly digesting his words, often going over sentences 2 or 3 times, essentially taking my sweet ass time about it. I came across this quote this morning and while I highlighted it immediately, knowing there was something of great personal value here, I had to to read it a dozen times before the underlying feeling manifested into conscious understanding.
I decided to treat my mom to a few days in the city before heading over to the Island for some down time. No run ‘o the mill box inside a box was going to do for our city escapade. I was determined to find a luxurious-within-financial-reason diamond among the monotonous beige masquerading as homes away from home for our time in Vancouver.