In 2006, some of you might remember hearing, hurricane-force winds took down one thousand (yes, 1000!) trees in Vancouver's Stanley Park. The devastation was visually and emotionally stunning to us on the West Coast. In the same storm, over 240,000 were without power at one point.
Yesterday, warnings went out all along the BC Coast and Vancouver Island that we should expect another storm approaching, although not quite reaching, the potential of that 2006 storm. Winds will hit 140 kilometres/hour (and the marine forecast shows a high expected of 50 to 60 knots).
I had planned to head home today. I've been here in Vancouver for over a week, helping out with Nola, and I've enjoyed the time immensely, but I'm ready to get back. I'm anxious to make some headway on my research before we leave in two weeks and, of course, there are all those pre-travel lists to attend to. But it made more sense to be here with Pater should power go out on the island (that whole no heat, no lights, no flushing deal is not fun). And, as it turns out, all ferries have been canceled today so far, so I couldn't have got home anyway. I'm going to accept the reality and chill here one more day. No worries, right?
Except. My daughter (Nola's mom) flies home today from Austin, Texas -- she's been traveling for work, visiting Washington, DC, then Chicago, and, finally, Austin, and Nola is very keen on her getting back quickly. Me, too. We miss her. But I wish she'd stay put today rather than being in the air at the same time as gale-to-hurricane force winds. This mothering gig means a lifetime of worry, you know? I'm trying my best to let the air traffic controllers and the meteorologists and the pilots do the worrying, but until my grown-up little girl is back on the ground safely, I'll be fretting. . .
Can I distract myself, briefly, by telling you what a satisfying day Pater and I had yesterday, en français? After our lesson, which was fun and instructive and lively (we meet our tutor at Artigiano's, sipping our very good lattes and Americanos while we struggle over le mot juste and the correct constructions), we were both fired up enough to spend the rest of the afternoon planning for our trip, bursting into French sporadically and happily. Then last night, we arrived unfashionably early (6:15!) at a favourite place of ours almost in our 'hood, The Twisted Fork on Granville, and our long-time-favourite serveuse (Quebecoise) who indulged us by chatting extensively with us en français. The conversation began because we had told her we opted for early dinner instead of heading to see Incendies at the cinema, and she declared herself a fan of Denis Villeneuve's work . . . from there, a discussion of French film in general and then on to other topics as various courses and wine were ordered and delivered. Moules frites, crème brulé aux ognons caramelisées, cassoulet, a bottle of Cab Franc. . .
Okay, now I've been distracted from my worries, but I'm hungry . . . time to go make myself some breakfast and check the weather report encore un fois. . . She'll be okay, right? But I'll worry anyway, I know -- it's part of the gig.
***ADDED 3:30-ish p.m.: She's home safe and sound -- on her way now to pick up Nola at Daycare -- that will be a happy reunion.