The Loft at the End of the Drive

A couple of years ago, I was living in my hometown, Fredericton NB, and loathing every minute of it. I was working long hours at two jobs. One job, was sitting the days with a dear friend who had brain cancer. Now don't get me wrong, hanging with Rick, was the best. He's a crazy cool graphic artist, brilliant conversationalist, and punk/hardcore/heavy metal guru. The man Knows his s**t . Aside from the cancer thing, hangin with Rick was awesome. I first met him when he was a first year student At the Craft school. He already had been to journalism school, and had decided to move on to art, Journalism's loss is the art world's gain. Rick Rocks. The man woke up from major, like I am serious, life threatening , removing a massive chunk of his BRAIN, surgery and declared his personality was intact by saying, yup, I STILL HATE NICKELBACK!!!!. Aside from all of that, Rick had the incredible good sense to marry my High School friend Megan- musician, scrabble queen, and computer ninja extraordinaire. I miss you guys, we should really chat more.
My second job, was possibly the one that could buy my ticket to hell. I was a Bartender, for the Army, on a Golf course. Slinging the devil's liquid, to golfer's in uniform. The part I had the least problem with, was the army. And that is saying something.Vast quantity of land, groomed, and pampered and watered and sprayed with god knows what, to be pretty and green and perfect. so someone could knock around a little white ball, take a walk, drink a beer smoke a cigarette and still claim to be participating in a sport.
It was brutal.  But the worst was missing my kids while I struggled to feed them, and nurture them, and teach them about how we should be treating our planet. So that we still have one, when they have kids.
Enter another high school friend.
She owned a loft, at the end of her drive, with a studio space beneath. We came here, and found home. In the loft at the end of her drive.

My dear friend Seonaid, the Practical Dilletante.