The Last Bit in a Nutshell

While there is very little to actually speak of, a few things do come to mind. Maybe just a post to update for my own sake as well as yours, and then I should have some more to speak of in the coming weeks: a new place, an ice-fishing trip planned, maybe a new vehicle soon, and who knows, maybe a jaunt to Yellowknife or a surrounding hamlet for fun.

First, a quick job update must be in order by now, and in fact, I do not think I have spoken much on the subject at all. I took over the Assistant Manager role at this property, and I have to say, I enjoy the job. Some days are slow; like the painful slow of watching paint dry, but not quite as trying as listening to grass grow. I take care of the front office staff, housekeeping, and I look after all the group bookings and banquets, so usually I have enough on my plate as long as business is booming. Seems obvious, but truth be told, a full house does not equal a full plate.

Next, and while we’re on the subject of full plates, it appears that I must love them. The other night I sat back with a tall rye after a shower, and took to resting after about 10kms of tramping on the river with Carter. Freshened up and feeling the need to get sucked into both the couch and mindless television, I opted for my long underwear, socks, and nothing else. Feet up, glass in hand, I felt as though I was trying to look past a guy with thinning hair just in front of me. I gave his head a quick swipe, and I myself muttered the “Ouch, hey!”... turns out he was my stomach.

For every cold, wind-bitten, beautiful walk I have endured, it appeared my winter coat was determined to take shape. I wondered over and over that night how I could possibly gain about 8 pounds given all the time spent outdoors traipsing through the woods or along the river. Then, it came to me: food. Granted, this is not exactly the same as Archimedes figuring out what displacement is, but I failed to consider that almost every meal I had eaten was nothing but fatty, deep fried goodness tended to by a sympathy salad. Living and working in the hotel has limited my culinary delights because I have no proper kitchen in my room. Where I am moving into an apartment next week, I have pledged a week of thin soups and exercise. The only balding guy watching TV in my solitary confinement should be me, not myself and I.

Another point worth noting is my evening playing bass with a local pop/country band at the Legion here in Hay River. I got a call on a Wednesday from a fellow named Dan, and he said through the grapevine he had heard I could play bass. When I told him I in fact did, he asked if I would like to sit in and accompany his group for a dance the coming Saturday. Having sat in unannounced a few times on bass I was confident, so I said yes and asked what time they started. My second live stint in the north would begin at 9pm.

I showed up around 8:30pm, ready to rock. Dan asked why I was not around for sound check, a few runs through of a couple of songs, and to make sure I knew what I was in for. I was unaware that we were launching into a exact replication of RUSH’s 2112 in its entirety, but assured him I would be able to follow along. Three songs in, he turned to me and said, “well, now I feel like an ass... you should have just said you were better than the music itself”. Not much for that sort of self promotion, I told him I was uncomfortable just saying something like “oh yeah, I’m awesome”, and figured I would just let my fingers do the talking. It is pretty much the same as my approach to courting women.

The night was a lot of fun, filled with music, drinks, a few new faces, and a few familiar faces that were unaware that I could even hold an instrument, let alone play one. After the gig was over, a few folks I knew invited me to a party close by. It passed without excitement, and I enjoyed a few beers quietly, and then slipped away as the crowd was either dying down or relocating to another spot.

I was fairly uninterested in going “just to go”, and upon arriving back at the hotel I grabbed Carter and my flask and headed to the river for a 3am constitutional. The sky was so wide, the air so crisp, and the stars and moon so amazingly bright I wondered why anyone would want to be inside. I suppose that it all comes with time and territory, the old “you’re new here, you love it, and we can’t wait to leave” kind of mentality. To me, for some reason, this opposing feeling has the same ring as some people having nice parents when company is coming.

Lately, Carter and I have had some ridiculous walks, both together and solo on my own (he has yet to earn my trust to be let out the door to return, a common practice for dog owners here in town). Early morning when I cannot for the life of me get back to sleep after awaking at 4am, I will hitch him up and hit the river with a traveler of coffee. One morning, we walked up past the ice crossing to the Reserve in town and under the bridge to “Old Town”, winding in behind the airport, then hopped off the ice and made our way home on the roads. Carter was off leash the whole time, even through the town, which was of no mind for me as most residents were still deep in slumber when we made it to the hotel around 5:30am. Few cars announced themselves in the deep silence that morning, and I felt like we had the whole town to ourselves.

Another night, I could not get to sleep. It was a Friday and very little was happening so I opted to stay in, watch a movie, and catch up on some sleep. Around 1am I turned in, and nearing 3am I had tried to no avail to read myself tired, write myself tired, and tea myself tired. I threw off the covers and pillows, put my feet on the floor, and cradled my head in my hands. I knew why I could not sleep, what with certain stresses making themselves quite apparent the preceding days, but I was not about to give into them. Carter had already been out for the afternoon with a local woman whose dog could damn near be his twin sister, and the two played in her yard for several hours. He was still sleeping off his fun, and no doubt his anger at my having him fixed some years back, so I left him to rest while I packed up a few things and headed into the night.

It is worth noting that heading on to a river at night and straying even 100 meters into the brush is not advisable, but for whatever reason, I thought it was fine. Granted, you would not be reading this had I gotten lost, and I was never even close to such a disaster, but remember, safety first. Always.

I was sufficiently bundled in my winter gear, stocked up with a sandwich and chocolate bar, and had acquired some kindling from the renovation dumpster behind the hotel. I went back in the direction of the town bridge and ended up on a small delta-like island on the shore of Great Slave Lake. I sat and lit a fire, boiled some tea in a tin can I had been using on several walks, and enjoyed a sandwich. The night would have been perfect for viewing the (to me) illusive Aurora Borealis, but sadly it was not cold enough at a meager -17C. Instead, I was treated to the largest expanse of sky I had ever witnessed; a plethora of constellations, shooting stars, and satellites all poised and performing, surely just for me.
On the walk back that morning, I realized I had left the hotel around 3:30am and was not even near the hill behind the property at almost 6am. It was such an amazing time on that little piece of land, stoking the fire and sipping tea, alone with my thoughts and sorting through the stresses as of late.

I felt good, and I mean really good, waking up that Saturday, and have tried to keep that positive attitude throughout the days and weeks that have followed. However, I liken my move here to sort through my problems to moving an alcoholic into a liquor store to dry out. I wanted to escape certain things, but I find myself face to face with them all too often because of my immense capacity of free time. Not knowing too many people who I can just call up, and not having the necessary tools to escape the little town, I am hit head on some days by the issues I struggle to forget. The loneliness sinks in, the isolation steeping me; the pains of certain yesterdays and uncertain tomorrows all to present in my stomach and heart.

Forgetting what should be forgotten, I do feel as though this is a good move on my part. I am not sure I would take such measures to improve or amend my situation at home if I was still happy with everything outside of said situation. What I mean is: would I change myself if I was still in the company of those who did not think I needed to change; would I lose some extra pounds if I figured I will only be single anyway; would I look to nature and the stars for relief if I was not completely new to the area in which I found them? The questions are all relative, and mostly rhetorical. I feel they have no actual bearing and really have no answers.

As much as I like it here, and for all I appreciate my own attempts to change or better myself, I have to wonder if I would be doing this at home.

Here’s to wonder, here’s to home... here’s to hanging in there.