An excellent story from JP Arsenault, whose blog I just connected with (thank you to James Randall at the Institute of Island Studies, where JP has just joined the Advisory Committee for that connection):
Anyone who has moved knows how challenging it can be to deal with the little things, like changes of address. During six months of homelessness, we’ve had no place but a P.O. Box to send mail. For most of the 25 or so organizations, government agencies, and businesses we deal with, not a problem. For a couple, however, the bank for example, it’s: “Sir, we need to have a physical address.” So I make something up; could be City Hall or the Lieutenant Governor’s Residence for all they care.
It reminds me of the day in September 1971 when I registered for my first term at the University of New Brunswick in Fredericton. The clerk at the Registrar’s Office took down all my particulars, then asked me for my phone number: “8”, I replied. “8? 8 what?” “Number 8 Wellington”, I said proudly. “There’s no such number”, says she. “Give me the phone and I’ll call my mother”, says I. So I did, and let her say hello to Yvonne. Another of life’s tiny triumphs for a kid from the sticks.
The Institute will be well-served by JP’s counsel.