Somewhere, there are some coal cars waiting for loads. If I look for jobs around the house, I won’t have to look far. If I look for something to do in the garden, it will surely grab me by the ankle.
But today it is raining, and my darling wife took me to the Loutet Farm Market and made me buy a cinnamon bun, which I had to bring home to eat due to a lack of coffee at the market, and then on the way home I remembered to stop at McNews to see if MRJ was in, which it was, and we brought that home too and made a cup of tea. And now I am sitting and enjoying my magazine and my bread and my tea and reflecting on why I’m so happy.
Farm markets in the city are a luxury. The produce is perplexingly more expensive than the stuff harvested in Mexico and shipped thousands of kilometres to Vancouver. Yet, by shopping at Loutet Farm, we had infinitely more mini connections with our community than offered by the self checkout at Thrifty. The happiness is worth the couple of extra dollars to me, which is privilege, I know, but let me enjoy it.
Then there was MRJ. It’s published a baffling eight times a year on a schedule that appears completely random by the time the magazine arrives here on the far side of the continent on the far side of the ocean. The likelihood of finding a fresh edition is low, and its appearance on the shelf always puts a spring in my step as I skip across 15th, dodging buses and Teslas.
And then there is this moment when it’s too rainy to expect to do much in the garden or the house. So I can just relax and enjoy the pictures and words and cinnamon and warm tea and remember. Life. Is. Good.
Pembroke:87 
The publishing schedule of MRJ is pretty random over here, where it’s printed, too!