Surrounding myself with great colleagues for the past 10 months necessitates readaptation to solitary existence. By day two, I am craving human interaction. I wander. I tour the current Power Plant exhibition--a creative weave of traditional and current First Nations ideas.
“Are you here for the dance competition?” Why not? Let serendipity guide. An Ojibway hip hop artist starts off. Dancers gyrate, showing off their agility, their enthusiasm, their artistry. I learn new words: B boys and B girls, and more. My mind swirls with my newly acquired street dance lexicon.
No, dear readers, I haven’t neglected you. You have often been in my thoughts these past months. I had intentions to post an update but work got in the way of life. For the past 10 months, I have been working in what I dub my “first real job”--a real 9 to 5er. I loved my job yet am happy to be back to my semi-nomadic self. Work officially ended a few minutes before my flight took off back to northwestern Ontario. I am spending a week in what is one of the most beautiful spots in Canada: Terrace Bay. I forgot how stunning is the drive along the northern shores of Lake Superior. This stretch rivals such well known roads as California’s Pacific Coast Highway and the road that threads the Florida Keys together. The small town sits at the northernmost crook of Lake Superior. I gaze south at the ice glazed blue expanse. This is the real version of Lawren Harris’ painting. I blaze a trail through Rainbow Falls Park. Serenity sets in with the swooshing skis on snow past deserted campsites.
