IT’S TIME FOR REFLECTION WITH THE LEICA SL2-S

As I sit here, poised to retire for the second time – a feat so unforeseeable I might just invent an award for it – I can't help but reflect on the peculiar charm of stepping away from the familiar. It's a bit like leaving a party while still having a good time, only to realize you've forgotten how to use the front door and end up wandering into a surprise adventure, possibly involving wine, cheese, and the Renault of my dreams. That's retirement for you, or at least the version I'm embarking on.

You see, knowing when to move on is a bit like understanding the British weather – it's unpredictable, occasionally dampening, but always a good excuse for a cup of tea and some quiet reflection. Retirement, in this sense, is not an ending but a hearty nudge towards new, mind-expanding endeavors. For me, these endeavors involve venturing into lands where the language sounds like an exotic dish I'd be too scared to order, and customs that seem as baffling as completing “WORDLE” in Swahili.

Why, you might ask, would one willingly step away from the comfort of the known into the labyrinth of the unfamiliar? Well, for the same reason, you might choose to wear mismatched socks – for the sheer thrill of it. In my case, the thrill is supplemented by my trusty cameras, my silent companions in this journey of discovery. Wandering with them is more than a hobby; it's a sort of medicine, a remedy for the mundane, a way to see the world not just in colors and shapes but in stories and whispers.

These cameras have seen more than most eyes do – they've captured smiles in hidden alleyways, sunsets that argue with the horizon, and cats with questionable intentions. They're not just lenses and shutters; they're my passport to the unexplored, my ticket to a show where every act is a surprise.

And let's not forget the potent medicine of change and reflection. Change, after all, is the universe's way of nudging us out of complacency. It's like a friend who insists you try escargot for the first time, and before you know it, you're wondering how you ever lived without it. Reflection, on the other hand, is the quiet conversation you have with yourself afterward, possibly over a glass of something peaty, pondering the peculiar yet delightful path you've stumbled upon.

So, as I embark on this new chapter, camera in hand, ready to misunderstand foreign languages and misinterpret local customs, I do so with a heart full of anticipation. I may not know what adventures await, but I'm certain of one thing – they'll make for one heck of a story, possibly involving a lost map and a serendipitous encounter with a wise, yet slightly intoxicated, local sage.

In conclusion, retirement, or rather re-adventurement, as I prefer to call it, is not just about leaving something behind. It's about embracing the unfamiliar, finding joy in the perplexing, and capturing it all through the lens of experience – both literal and metaphorical. And if that isn't a recipe for a life well-lived, I don't know what is.

As usual, your thoughts and comments are always welcome.

Live Well!

M.

P.S. All images were captured with a Leica SL2-S and a 41-year-old adapted Nikon vintage zoom lens.

MY THIRD INSTALMENT OF THE COFFEE DIARIES

Unlike the first two instalments of my coffee diary, this short post was not written at a coffee shop. This instalment comes to you via the rocky shores of Cattle Point behind the tweed curtain in Oak Bay, British Columbia. Due to Covid-19 the opportunity to take up our usual spots in local mom and pop coffee shops has become a near impossibility. The best one can do during these trying times is follow the instructions posted to the windows and doors of my local haunts such as Pure Vanilla on Cadboro Bay Road. This once welcoming refuge from corporate giants such as Starbucks has now transformed into to the canteen at (insert name of prison here). One must lineup. One must space at six foot intervals. One must advance when told. One must adorn appropriate PPE. One must yell his or her order at the inmate with the day job on the other side of the counter. One must repeat his or her order at least twice due to face mask garble. One must “tap their phone or card through the glass”. One must tip for this lack of personal service by at least 15%. Then finally, one must locate to an RV point on the range otherwise known as general population until your inmate number is called for pick-up.

I will be the first one to say that everything these small businesses are doing to keep us and them safe from contamination is much appreciated and I make jest just because I can. I can guarantee that the poor men and women of Starbucks have received word from corporate HQ to unlock their doors and allow all comers. This must be just a tad more than concerning for those employees and their families, but I’m sure that SBHQ in Seattle knows what they are doing, right? They of course are in the epicentre of America’s worst initial outbreak of the virus. Truth be told I’d rather be treated like an incarcerated burglar at Pure Vanilla than a witless drone at Starbucks.

With coffee and a raspberry bran muffin in hand, I climbed aboard my prison bus and headed over to Cattle Point to meet a buddy for our twice weekly constitutional. This usually consists of what old retired guys complain about. Most often these days conversation soon turns to the Victoria City mayor, her council and the current state of our once beautiful city. We lament the message from city hall that is clearly a line stolen from my favourite baseball movie. “If you build it, they will come”. Well, I don’t think that W.P. Kinsella wrote those words for them to become a tag line for Mayor McCheese and the communist city council of Victoria (Little Red Cookbooks in hand). Never should those words have ever become deeds.

The hard working folks on the front line can’t keep up. Well over ¾ of Police calls for service involve “those who have come”. Paramedics are reviving the same “clients” two & three times a day. Tent cities dot our landscape. If you live in Victoria and had the misconception you should store your BBQ, patio table or bike in your back yard or shed, think again. Apparently it is the job of Victoria’s tent city Robin Hoods to invite themselves around to your place at some point to steal all of those items that you worked hard to buy. You should only assume that they need your stuff more than you do. Their apparent mission is to kit out their merry band’s outdoor space like a crap HGTV episode. Just assume your bike will be used to ferry said merry men and women to other less pilfered neighbourhoods in order to liberate other unassuming home owners of their prized possessions as well. “If you build it, they will come”. And worst of all, I cannot even begin to fathom what it is like to have a child enrolled at Southpark elementary school. Parents having to sift through the playgrounds everyday to find and collect used syringes so that their toddlers won’t get jabbed and infected.

Thankfully, during this extremely depressing discussion, a retired couple sporting Tilley hats and binoculars stopped by and started to chat. They were wondering if we had seen any fried egg jellyfish? We hadn’t and didn’t have the guts to tell them we had never even heard of fried egg jellyfish before meeting their acquaintance. The lady of a certain size and weight went on at length about the local species and how she and her presumed mute husband haven’t been able stop talking about these jellyfish since they were introduced to them just over a year ago. We indulged these folks for several minutes before they wandered off to find another tide pool. They sure were smitten with their little jellied friends. Just as they left ear shot my buddy said why aren’t they consumed with the C.H.U.D. (cannibalistic humanoid underground dwellers) like we are. They never even mentioned the useless municipal elected officials we can’t stop disparaging. Those Tilley hatted folks are contented and happy. They don’t think about bad things, they think about candy floss, rainbows, unicorns & jellyfish.

We took a minute or two of silence in order to process adopting their lifestyle option as ours thoroughly. Let’s just say that we couldn’t truly come to terms with their unfettered blissfulness. So, I suppose that later this week we will find ourselves in the same place, at the same time, and with the same complaints. Nice try you cheerful adventurers! We simply don’t have enough room for all our hate. We have to let it out or we will most certainly face the wrath of the stroke doctor. Remember the good old days? We do, and it’s our happy place. Lately we exist to suffer equally in the indignation of unprecedented synthetic drug addiction and stupid looking wide brimmed canvass hats.

Stay well!

Mark

p.s. The following are some photos taken with the Leica Q-P at our Cattle Point coffee morning.