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  • Writer's pictureBrian Martin

3 day pass

Aug 20, 2020:

A three-day pass. Something, I’m sure every prisoner long’s for. We are, after all, in a prison of sorts, are we not? I know that I can’t speak for the multitude of younger individuals (insert age group here) who perhaps don’t comprehend, feel ignorantly indestructible, and/or are just plain unwilling to even recognize the danger that they are putting themselves and the rest of society in when they recklessly party in hordes on the beaches, bars, or night clubs (what a shit show), but for those of us who are conscientious and follow the guidelines, it’s a lockdown.

With every passing week it becomes increasingly more difficult (for me anyways) to write about the explorative journey to the center of my creative being when the experiences that are necessary to spark the flow of inspirational thinking are being stunted by the lack of in person contact and involvement with like-minded people. It’s kind of depressing really, but that’s where the three-day pass comes in. Osoyoos anyone?

Sure, driving on BC’s highways can be a bit of a frustrating experience, but once you get out of the central areas and begin to cruise the scenic mountain terrain of the Hope-Princeton-Osoyoos interior (especially on a clear and sunny day), you will feel the shackles of moral internment slip right off of those metaphorical limbs. Aah, the sweet smell of freedom.

As anyone who has taken a staycation during these times of self-imposed isolation can (I’m certain) attest, the going to is always better than the returning from. The buildup of excitement and anticipation with regards to arriving at the destination is in itself a mental break from the soul sucking day to day drudgery of Covid living. But be weary, because when it’s over, the reality that is your residential penitentiary will come back to smack you in the face like a bag of hockey pucks (note the Canadian content).

I have to admit that after a little taste of relaxing, boating, drinking and generally enjoying the company of a couple of our closest and most long-term friends, I wasn't quite yet ready to come home. Even though the luxurious Coast Hotel (okay, a little sarcasm) was more than happy to gouge my bank account of whatever puny pennies might be left in it, I found myself gleefully willing to go dumpster diving in the two malodorous industrial trash bins next to our room to try and collect enough beer bottles to pay for another night. Oh well, maybe next time.

As busy as Osoyoos was (and it was freakishly busy), I will state for the record that I felt (at least in the areas where we mingled) most were practicing sound social isolation procedures, which is always refreshing to see. I mean, if you don’t have trust amongst your neighbours to do the right thing on the beach then how can you trust the opposite direction traffic that comes whipping around the mountain curve at 90kmh to stay in their lane while passing a scant couple of feet from your moving vehicle. We all want to live. Right?

Just to be clear, I love my house and the people that live in it, and as prisons go Norway’s institutional system has got nothing on me, but everybody needs a break once in a while even if it is just to sit in the sand of some foreign town (okay, Osoyoos isn’t all that foreign, but you get my meaning) and let the passing minutes drift away with the dessert breeze.

Maybe this fella (at least I think it’s a fella) has the right idea. Just another day at the lake.

Until next time.

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