On Missing the Ferry

We were 7th in line from getting on the ferry.

That is not bad.

Rebecca says that once her family was the first in line: the car that was not let on the ferry.

So she and I sat for 2 hours in the ferry terminal waiting for the next boat.  We saw a wonderful sunset and each had a bowl of  hot Thai or chicken soup.

Not a bad ending to what had been a perfect day.

I sat in front of the Vancouver Art Gallery, waiting for Rebecca's conference to end so that we could finish our trip to Victoria.

I saw a busker preparing his act, trying to draw in a crowd.  The steps to the main door of the gallery are no longer used.  Instead people use what is probably a flight and a half to lay in the sun or to sit and wait for their loved ones who are shopping.  The people on those steps were his target audience.  Shoppers streamed up and down the walking plaza and the busker tried to get the less hurried ones to stop.  He was so funny that already I was laughing and his performance had not started.  Of maybe his performance had begun.  He laid down on the sidewalk in front of a young mother who was pushing a stroller, not letting her get by.

He called out to an old man, "Father, Dad, stop, I haven't seen you since you went to jail."  The old man had no idea that he was calling to him.

The busker threw off his white tae-kwon do jacket as though he was doing a strip tease and it fell behind him, right on the head of a man walking by.

I had already forgotten about all of this, until I was trying to remember what it was that had happened before that lovely sunset.

Arta