(Post #43) The Magic Hidden in the Mundane

- November 27, 2024

When Niki’s pet parents returned, I transitioned from house sitter to guest suite extraordinaire—a five-star upgrade minus the bay view. The guest suite, tucked cozily in their condo building, is everything a boutique hotel aspires to be: private walkout garden, mini-fridge, coffee station. The only catch? No cooking allowed. So, I’ve been channeling my inner food prep artist, crafting gourmet cold meals like some Michelin-starred picnic enthusiast.

To thank my hosts for their generosity (and justify my lingering presence), I volunteered to continue walking Niki every afternoon. It was a win-win: Niki got her sniffs, and I got to feel less like a squatter. Little did I know, these walks would become the highlight of my stay.

Earbuds in and podcast playing, I strolled along as Niki diligently inspected every blade of grass like a customs agent with four legs. It’s our little routine—me being mindful, Niki being mildly obsessive. Rain or shine, the walk always has its charms. But today? Today was a whole symphony of surprises.

It began with a photographer, camera poised toward the bay. Curiosity overruled my usual “walk on by” instinct. “What’s caught your eye?” I asked. He pointed to a Sea Blubber jellyfish drifting regally in the water. He explained that these types of jellies are common around Vancouver Island but rare in the bay. He felt that the bomb cyclone must’ve given it a lift. Even Niki seemed impressed, though it might’ve just been hunger. I thanked the photographer, feeling smug about asking instead of wondering forever.

Walking on, next came a scene straight out of Woodstock. A young woman sat perched on her Volkswagen camper, strumming a guitar and singing like an angel auditioning for the heavens. She didn’t just sing—she transported. People strolled by with casual glances, but I stood, hypnotized, trying not to look like a stalker. She was pure, unplugged magic.

But the tour de force came near the rock formations. A backpack and a pair of shoes sat atop a boulder, their owner nowhere in sight—until I squinted and spotted him swimming in the bay. Six degrees out, and this man was leisurely swimming as if it were July. A small crowd gathered, equally awed and I was half listening to their conversation. One woman thought he was an otter, another confessed she struggled in a heated pool. All pointing in the direction of their discovery. I, however, moved off the trail, walking along the rocks to get closer.

When he finally emerged, dripping and grinning, I couldn’t resist shouting down, “How do you do it?” This sparked a delightful conversation. He explained his cold-water immersion journey took time; he was not always this brave. He started with setting a timer to give him the green light to jump in. Starting with two-minute dips and building up to five minutes of icy zen. I mentioned I heard cold showers help prepare. “Oh, I hate cold showers,” he admitted, laughing. “They’re awful.” I left our chat both inspired and slightly jealous—of his bravery, which took me back to my Polar Bear dip in Sidney. No comparison of course.

By the time Niki and I returned, I was grinning like a fool. What started as an ordinary walk turned into a masterclass in appreciating the unexpected. Niki was back home and I decided to take advantage of my evening solace— I treated myself to a gin and tonic and dinner at Boom and Batten. With the bay in view and my pen in hand, I soaked in the gratitude of another day well-lived.

Soon, I’ll be off to Cordova Bay for my final house-sitting gig of the year—a stunning oceanfront home with a lovely dog. Can life get better? Possibly. But for now, I’m savouring this little chapter and all the hidden magic it continues to bring.

Being Aware Can Bring Such Joy