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Day Twenty-Eight … Just Fore The Fun Of It

Have I ever told you that I’m a champion golfer?  Actually, I haven’t even told myself.  After a round of golf, I love returning to the pro shop and telling the desk clerk “I shot 70 today.” > “Really?  That’s wonderful.” > “Yeah, and the second nine was even better.”

In my deep dark youth, when I was really serious about the game, I would sometimes throw my club after an abysmal shot.  Thank goodness there were no foreheads nearby.  Once, on the raised tee of a par 3 hole, with a shallow pond right in front of me, I swung mightily in an already upset kind of way.  The ball bounced aimlessly over the smooth green grass and deposited itself into the drink.  I did what any normal deranged person would do.  I picked up my golf bag and threw it into the water.  A mighty splash it was.  And then I just stared at the ripples as my golf budget sunk.  After a brief pause for sanity, I clambered off the tee and waded in.  Adorned with muck, my bag and clubs were resurrected.  My goodness, I was young back then.

Yesterday, armed with decades of maturity, I agreed with Lance that a golf game with the kids would be a good idea.  Family.  What a blessing to be out on the course with Jaxon, Jace and Lance.  The golf club in Okotoks only allows foursomes so Jagger got to hang out with Nona while Ember was getting her locks cut off.  She’s one smooth dog now.  And I’m one smooth swinger of the club.  Maybe.

We rented two golf carts and it was Jace and me riding together.  Like all the rest of us, he hit a few good shots within a symphony of not good ones.  Okay, my not good ones were just plain bad.  But back to Jace.  He’d get a bit frustrated but would come right back and give it his best on the next shot.  And he smiled a lot.  Pretty cool for an 8-year-old.  It could be that he was the more mature golfer in our cart.

I always have visions of an effortless swing followed by the ball soaring through the air and landing softly on the green.  Now since I am a retired vision teacher, you’d think that I could bring these images into reality.  Trouble is, in my short life, whenever I’ve completed my followthrough after a shot, and I look up, the ball is already coming down!  Tiger Woods never had these problems.  Well, maybe he does now.

Oh well.  Back to the heroics of the day.  Lance lent me his old clubs but he didn’t have a putter for me.  So I putted with a driver, the straightest face club in the bag.  And I sunk one 20-foot putt!  I raised my arms aloft and yelled out “Yes!”  Those male golf pros just aren’t demonstrative enough for me.  And then unfortunately there was my five-putt on the last hole.

Lance hit all these booming drives.  No problem for him when he looked up, I’m sure.  Putting, however, was a challenge.  Jaxon also hit some good shots mixed in with the bad.  So really we were an epic foursome.  The truth is that golf was just a convenient excuse to be together and talk about silly things for four hours.

And I hope we talk about many more silly things over the next ten days.  Come with us.

Day Twenty-Seven … Music To My Ears

I love traditions, even ones that I’ve only been marginally a part of.  Most every Sunday in the new millennium, Lance has made breakfast for his family – fluffy pancakes and bacon.  I mean this guy knows how to make pancakes, and when they’re drizzled with maple syrup …  Yum!  On Sunday, Nona was still dozing but “the boys” (five of us) chowed down.  I suggested we talk “man stuff” but none of us could figure out what that was.

Ember was bipping here and there around our feet, hoping for a tasty morsel.  Tasty but not very good for her.  She managed a piece of bacon.  Above the table, all mouths were kept discreetly closed as we chewed, except for sometimes.  All this was a convenient, but nutritionally necessary excuse to hang out together.  I wonder if Jagger, Jace and Jaxon will realize at 35 how very special their morning breakies with dad were.  I hope so.

In the afternoon, it was off to the Longstock Music and Arts Festival, held in a park only a block from Lance and Nona’s place in Longview.  How’s that for convenient?  We six carried our lawn chairs down the way and plunked ourselves down among the audience.  Ten gallon hats were sprinkled among the crowd.  Smiles were far more common than that.  And onto the stage there strolled “The Travelling Mabels”, three Alberta women anchored by the spirit of Eva Levesque, who actually is a neighbour of Lance’s.  These women told great stories within their melodies and harmonies.  I hummed along and sometimes sang along.  I tried to get Nona to get up on stage with me to sing a few ditties but she demurred with a smile.  Ahead of us, I saw a woman whose long hair was a gorgeous combo of auburn and blonde.  I wanted that, rather than the current grey highlights that I’m sporting.  Nona wasn’t sure I could pull it off.

My favourite song from the Mabels was “Teach Your Children Well”, written by Graham Nash.  I definitely sang along to that one.  It’s part of my history.

Words for me:

You, who are on the road must have a code that you can live by
And so become yourself because the past is just a goodbye

Words for Lance and Nona:

Don’t you ever ask them why, if they told you, you would cry
So just look at them and sigh and know they love you

Words for Jaxon, Jagger and Jace:

 And you, of the tender years can’t know the fears that your elders grew by
And so please help them with your youth, they seek the truth before they can die

After the music, I strolled into a tent and met an artist named Carol.  On the wall was a pencil drawing of Andy Russell, an outdoorsman who lived on a hill just outside of Waterton Lakes National Park in Alberta.  As a young man, I worked at the Prince of Wales Hotel in the park and often looked up at Andy’s place and longed to follow the driveway to his soul.  But I never did meet the author of Tales Of A Wilderness Wanderer and Horns In The High Country.  Reading those pages, I got such a sense of the Southern Alberta foothills and mountains.  It was like coming home.  And next week, Lance and Nona will be bringing me home to Waterton.  I’ll be saying hi to the Bruce who lived 40 years ago.

***

I told Jace that it was his turn to add a final word to today’s post, if he wanted to.  I said that who knows how many people would be reading this.  What do you want to say to them?  Dad piped up with “Imagine you’re speaking to all of them in a big hall.”  So what was the result, you ask?

“Get off your butt and go outside!”

Day Twenty-Six … Back Home Again

To be clear, I’m 3200 kilometres from Union, Ontario, but I’ve arrived at my second home.  Lance, Nona, Jaxon, Jagger and Jace have thoroughly welcomed me.

On Saturday, Holly and I had a sweet goodbye hug on her driveway.  As I waved to her smiling face, I was already turning toward the kids who are the closest thing I have to children of my own.  I knew we’d have fun for the next two weeks.

First though, it was back to Bruce and Isabelle’s place in Calgary for an afternoon visit.  Bruce served me tea and I munched on banana bread and apple slices as we talked.  Isabelle told me of her oldest daughter Andrea who once upon a time felt moved to go to India.  She came back the richer for it.  Andrea moved to Edmonton for school (either college or university) and gradually adopted another mom, this one of East Indian origin.  Isabelle said she was genuinely happy that her daughter was close to this woman, who would be looking out for Andrea in the far north.  (Okay, that was exaggeration: Edmonton is only three hours away from Calgary.)

Now here’s where my memory is doing tricks on me.  It was either Andrea’s graduation or her wedding and both moms were present.  The first person she went to after the ceremony was her Indian mother.  Andrea knelt down and kissed both of her feet.  Isabelle shared that she was sad that her daughter hadn’t come to her and kissed her feet.  And there we have it, another one of those bittersweet moments that life presents to us.  We want to be the most important person in someone’s life and yet we try to let go and rejoice in the loved one’s relationship with another.  So not black-and-white.

Goodbye, Isabelle and Bruce (after they took me out for a delicious meal at an authentic Indian restaurant).  My nose was turning to Longview, less than an hour south.

I had imagined the moment of arrival on the driveway.  I would get out of Scarlet wearing my “Shine A Light Upon My Day” T-shirt (yellow print on red).  That’s one of my favourite lines from Nona’s poetry.  All together, I’d had three of them immortalized on shirts.  I told her that months ago but I was hoping she’d forgotten the conversation.  Oh, I love moments of surprise!  Anyway, I could see Nona walking down the driveway, seeing the message, and being totally startled.  However … it was cold on Saturday and I had my coat on.  Hugs from everyone awaited in the hallway.  Nice.  Nona went to sit on a kitchen chair and I took my coat off.  I moved to stand in front of her.  (No, Bruce, You’re wrecking the surprise.)  Well, I couldn’t resist.  Nona’s eyes were going everywhere except my shirt.  “Stop staring at me.”  Finally I pointed at the poetry and she gave me a little smile.  She doesn’t like to talk about her achievements.  Oh well.  Today I’m wearing “Lovely Is Your Heart” (white on black).  I wonder if Nona will say anything.

We sat around the dining room table in the evening, eating watermelon.  Young Mr. Jace (age 8) started in on me about raisins.  He’s had fun on previous visits bugging me about my intense distaste for the noxious little wrinkled things.  “They’re just dried grapes,” someone said.  Great, now it’s a whole family thing.  Jaxon (age 14 in a few days) thoughtfully placed three of the offending objects on my placemat while I was trying to consume the watermelon.  Just as thoughtfully, I lifted my plate and plunked it down on the beasts.  And on we went, with smiles all around … except for me, that is.  I’ve made feigned revulsion into an art form.  Good family fun.

Jaxon came up to me and said he had read Jody’s book.  I’m glad he did.  I was tempted to ask “Did you like it?” but I’ve learned not to go there.  People will volunteer their reactions if they choose to.  I told Jaxon how very much I miss Jodiette.  He said that he misses Aunt Jody too.  It was a quiet moment.

And then there’s the sixth member of the Doram family – Ember, their fuzzy black cocker spaniel.  Driving down from Calgary, I wondered if she would remember me.  After all, it’s been three years.  As I made the hugging rounds, the little fur ball was bouncing at my feet.  “Hi, Ember!  Do you remember me?”  I’d say the answer is yes.  During the evening in the living room, Ember would often come over for rubs and lyings down but I wanted my little friend to go say hi to Jagger, Nona, Jaxon, Lance and Jace too.  And she did, some.  I guess I’m a novelty.

Here I sit two days later, on the same couch.  Nobody else is up yet.  It’s just Ember and me hanging loose.  Later, I’ll see if Jagger wants to do some proofreading with me, and whether he wants to compose a final blog comment.  And now for some toast and coffee.

***

Jaxon was upstairs and Jagger was down so I asked Jaxon if he wanted to proofread again.  He said yes.  And now … here’s Jagger!

“I don’t know.  You’re never too old to have fun.”

Day Twenty-Five … Stops Along The Way To Red Deer

After leaving Ray and Joy’s place on Friday, I meandered north towards Jody’s cousin Holly in Red Deer, Alberta.  There were people to touch en route.

My first meeting didn’t happen in a face-to-face way.  I was dropping a letter off for Michelle, a welcomer at the visitor centre of the Nikka Yuko Japanese Garden in Lethbridge.  On my way through a couple of weeks ago,  Michelle and I had a great talk about life.  And we hugged.  I seem to be hugging a lot of people on my road trip whom I’ve never met before.  I like it.

I told Michelle that I was coming back through Lethbridge on August 13 and 14 and that I’d love to visit her again.  She said that she was off on the 14th but worked until 5:00 on the 13th.  So my goal on Thursday was to get to her in time.  Sadly, a delay in Kimberley, BC, another one at the border, and me forgetting about the time zone change between BC and Alberta nixed that idea.  I was sad.  No hug.  And I had told Michelle that I’d be there.  I hate not keeping my word.  Let it go, Bruce.

Next up for me was seeing Gordon, my sister-in-law Nona’s father.  He’s in a nursing home in Lethbridge.  Gordon has always struck me as being a quiet person, but he and I have had some good conversations.  On Friday, I showed up at Gordon’s bedroom door.  He was sitting in a chair.  As I approached, he looked up and smiled.  He recognized me!  I sat down opposite and we talked about many things – Nona, how he misses his home in Milk River, and the laughter of many staff members at his care facility.  It was clear to me that I needed to pause after my comments so that Gordon could process what I said.  And of course that was fine.

As I was about leave, I stood in front of Gordon to shake his hand and say goodbye.  He was clearly determined to stand.  I wondered if I should move his walker closer to him but Gordon stood quickly, moved forward to the walker and went fully upright.  He was happy to shake my hand.  And even happier to walk me to the front entrance, approximately at the speed of light.  Nona and Lance call him “Flash Gordon”.  Absolutely.

I decided to explore another planet on my way to Red Deer.  Vulcan, Alberta is basically Spockland, from the original Star Trek.  I dropped into the visitor centre to buy some T-shirts.  A young woman greeted me, clearly in the throes of a bad cold.  Even as stuffed up as she was, kindness came my way.  She patiently explained Star Trek references of which I was unfamiliar.  Such as the Green Girl, a seductive young lady who was rescued from certain doom by a certain William Shatner.  Sadly, no green girl approached to sell me a water bottle.

On I went, certain of my route to Red Deer.  I thought there was a “Stony Plain Road” that headed directly north to my destination.  Slight miscalculation.   Stony Road was actually a ring route around Calgary.  I knew something was wrong when the mountains appeared directly in front of me instead of to my left.  Oh well … being on time is highly overrated.

Holly welcomed me to her palace in Red Deer.  Okay, it wasn’t that big but it was a lovely space.  She took me out to a cool restaurant called Chopped Leaf and I had a decadent salad full of shrimp, served in a tilty white bowl.  We just yapped and yapped, both there and back at her palace over a glass of wine.  Holly remembered Jody as a teenager, walking her beloved dog Dutch in downtown Coaldale, Alberta.  Dutch was a sausage dog – a dachshund.  Then Holly told me that she got close to Jody only in the last few years, as they rediscovered each other via Skype and Facebook.  They had planned to get together face-to-face.  (Sigh)

Holly wants to bring all 16 of the Doram first cousins together for a reunion and hopefully a genealogy trip to England to meet some ancient Dorams.  Make it so, Holly.

“Let the journey carry on.”  A quote from my 14-year-old nephew Jaxon.

Day Twenty-Four … Just Us Guys

Late Wednesday evening, I was on the last leg of a very long day from Longview, Washington to Clark Fork, Idaho.  I was the only car on the secondary highway east of Sandpoint and it was dark.  I was pooped.  Then I heard the sound.  It seemed to come from inside me, and then all around me.  A low groan, not human.  It was a spaceship!  Momentarily I would be abducted into the bowels of the beast, where skinny little grey guys would start doing unspeakable experiments on my innocent body.  The noise got louder and then stabilized … to my right.  I looked over there and all I saw was black.  Suddenly, a string of lights rose up and a train blasted past me in the opposite direction.  Whew!  No internal organ inspection today.  The tracks had been way below the level of the highway and hidden by trees, but then they climbed up, revealing the terrors.  I got to the motel shaken but still in possession of all my limbs and digits.

I slept the sleep of the dead and knew that coffee would be the solution to my traumas.  The gentleman at the front desk said there was a café just down the street, so off I went.  I walked through the door of the Cabinet Mountain Bar and Grill wearing my “I’m The Crazy Uncle Everyone Warned You About” T-shirt and yellow short shorts.  Three guys in outdoor work clothes looked up from their table.  “So you’re an uncle.  Nice shirt.”  “Yeah, it’s pretty cool.  My sister-in-law and brother-in-law gave it to me.”  A little smile in return.  They returned to their conversation and I perused the menu.  I read about sports in Bonner County and news about kids who had entered 4H competitions.  One girl had raised a goat for meat and now it was hard to let him go.  I enjoyed the read, as well as my ham and eggs, hash browns and brown toast.

My friends across the way were engaging in topics of which I knew nothing.  “That offroad forklift handled the whole thing but geez it was expensive – 10000 bucks.”  And one fellow talked about how long it took to fill his swimming pool.  And then Person A at Table 1 started razzing Person D at Table 2.  D gave it back to A in spades.  And so the fun unfolded.  Our waitress bipped from table to table, smiling.  I had great fun.  Just normal people leading their lives.  The fact that I hadn’t had many of their experiences was irrelevant.  After my meal had mysteriously disappeared we all had a good talk, including how best to get from Clark Fork to Cranbrook, BC.  We blathered on about stereotypes.  I mentioned a trip I took through Southern Ontario and New York, where I assumed Canadian drivers would mosey along with me at the speed limit while as soon as I crossed into the States, Americans would tailgate me mercilessly.  So much for assumptions.  The reality proved to be just about the opposite.  I think the guys enjoyed my story.

Long later, after I had worked my way through Idaho, BC and Alberta, I was sitting in the kitchen of Ray Doram in Lethbridge.  Joy had gone to work.  Ray spun a tale about his dad Joe.  When Ray was 5 or so, he was looking up at the stars with dad.  “You know, son, the stars look even better when you see them through the sleeve of a coat.”  “Oh.”  “Let’s try it.”  And as young Ray gazed up through the tunnel of fabric at the silver dots, dear dad poured a pitcher of water down the hole!  Ray and I doubled over, him with a great memory, me with newbie astonishment.

So it was a day.  Plenty more to come.

Day Twenty-Three … Strangers No More

I had intended to visit my friend Neal at his home in Kimberley, BC, but his mom was sick in Longview, Washington, so that was where I headed to after leaving Beryl.  Maxine is 88 and still living in the home that she and her husband built.  How cool is that?  I wanted to see Neal but didn’t really think things through.  How would I feel if I was ill and here comes a stranger to stay overnight?  She was kind to me but it probably was an effort.

Neal and I went to a local pub for a talk.  These pub visits seem to be a growing trend for me.  We had a good time, catching up, but it was time for sleeps.  Out to the parking lot, where Scarlet looked a little tired after our long drive over White Pass.  I reached into my pocket for the key and … nothing.  Nowhere to be found.  Neal had advised me months ago to buy a little Hide-A-Key container but someone I know didn’t follow through.  We were both tired and stationary.  My mind flooded with implications.  Head down, I walked back into the restaurant, out onto the patio and gazed down into the dark below our table.  Some indistinct black thing winked up at me.  Happily, it wasn’t a clod of dirt.  So transportation was easily arranged.

The next morning, Scarlet and I were back over the same dry mountains – lots of sagebrush greeted me.  And one narrow stretch that was perched on a slope scared me.  I gripped the wheel like a vice, which of course isn’t the suggested strategy in the drivers’ manual.

I saw a fellow hitchhiking in the opposite direction.  He had a beard and crutches.  I felt for him.  At the same time, I realized that I wouldn’t have picked him up if he had been going my way.  Even after all that hitching I’ve done, all those years ago, my empathy wouldn’t have been enough to give him a ride.  I’ve thought lately that I don’t have much fear in me anymore but I guess I’m wrong about that.

On my first trip over these mountains, I had missed the pullout for the Mount Rainier viewpoint.  Boo!  Rainier is so beautiful, with glaciers adorning its peak.  Now eastward bound, I was determined to get a photo.  Tantalizing slivers of glaciers over lower hills beckoned me until there’s the pullout and spread before me was the full meal deal.  Indescribable.

As I drove through the little town of Packwood, Washington, I saw a sign for a bakery.  Naturally I demurred (whatever that means).  Okay, I actually partook of a chai latte and a big chocolate chip cookie that had emerged from the oven only a few minutes before.  A young female backpacker smiled at me and said that she loved my T-shirt.  It says “Get High On Mountains”, appropriately enough with white print on a green shirt.  I smiled back and said something silly.  I went out on the deck and plunked myself down on one of those wooden Adirondack chairs.  To my right sat a middle-aged woman who was talking to her husband in the next chair.  Usually I’m the one who starts conversations but she turned her body to face me and started in on some topic.

For awhile it was just Marcia and me kibbitzing but soon Larry joined the fray.  Their son Scott has Buddhist leanings (I used to, but now I’m standing up straight).  He’s a very quiet guy but apparently has amazing presence.  His friends just want to be near him.  They feel him.  How very cool.  And Marcia’s brother Bill was in a longterm committed relationship with another man.  I loved hearing Marcia talk adoringly of her brother, with no hint of any bias against gay folks.  Bill wrote a one man play about his homosexual life and performs it himself all over North America.  Marcia was so proud.

I was getting hungry in the late afternoon and planned to stop in Spokane, Washington for supper.  Anyway, I’m zipping down the highway when I see advertisements for Ritzville, including a sign for … Ta da! … Jake’s Café!  Oh my goodness.  I’m not the type to pass up an opportunity like that.  I had a taco salad, Diet Coke and (trying to resist the pull of dessert) a piece of the most incredible coconut cream pie.  I talked at length to Kim (a customer) and Tara (my waitress).  They both took a copy of Jody’s book.  They both were openhearted humans.  Tara told me that Jake had died years ago and I volunteered to be the new Jake.  I told them all about auditioning for Jake’s Women and my fetish for seeing multi-performances of the play.  They both laughed with me.  Or was it at me?  Can’t remember.

I ended my day in Clark Fork, Idaho.  Wait till you hear about my breakfast the next day.  Actually, you will have to wait … until tomorrow.

Day Twenty-Two … Family

A couple of recollections from days past:

Rita started talking about a trip that she and Dave had been on.  I can’t remember where to – let’s say Seattle, Washington.  She began “Bruce and I headed down to Seattle …”  My heart stopped.  I didn’t say a thing but I was transported back to happy times with my former wife, adventures we went on, times when that big smile of hers was shining bright.  Oh, the chapters of my life.

***

When I was visiting Rhonda (Jody’s cousin) near Vancouver, she talked about her dad Roy, who died about five years ago.  She talked with love in her eyes and in her voice.  I think I only met Roy once.  He was in a wheelchair at Norm’s funeral (Jody’s dad).  We chatted a bit but I didn’t get a real sense of him.  Rhonda definitely helped me out there.  “Dad sometimes walked into the kitchen in the morning wearing a flip wig.  He would brush it back with his hand.”  Oh my.  “Other times, he would use a grease pencil to draw a big moustache on his face.  He’d sit there as if nothing was out of the ordinary while we kids were dumbfounded.”

So, I sat near an outrageous character at Norm’s funeral and I didn’t have a clue that he was perhaps more “out there” than his kids.  My loss.

***

After leaving Rita and Dave, I drove long and hard towards her sister Beryl in Yakima, Washington.  I even gave away two of Jody’s books at a gas station in Mount Vernon, Washington.  Got into Yakima after dark, and directions from a friendly McDonald’s employee saw me through the last few kilometres.

Beryl and I spent two hours talking that evening.  I told her that she was always my favourite of Rita’s siblings.  She told me that her children Scott (46) and Tricia (42) still call me Uncle Bruce.  (Sigh)  Now I have a new generation that calls me Uncle Bruce – Jody’s brother Lance’s kids – Jaxon (13). Jagger (11) and Jace (8).  Blessed again.  I get to be with Lance’s clan from August 15 till 30 in Longview, Alberta, southwest of Calgary.  Oh my some more.  What a trip this is.  Lots of people who still love me, and some who are new to me that I’m starting to love.  The big human family that we are.

The next morning, Tricia texted her mom from Portland, Oregon.  She works in the running department of Nike and remembers me as a runner.  Beryl asked if I wanted to reply, and I did.  “I have great memories of you as a kid.  I hope we meet again.”  Tricia responded by saying that she thinks of me often.  My goodness, time and space are such flimsy barriers to love.  Really no barrier at all.  Love wins.

Family … such a fine word.  I vote for a hugely broad definition of the term.  Like perhaps “All beings everywhere”.  Including Portland, Yakima and Vancouver.

Day Twenty-One … Kids!

Since Jody got sick in November, 2013, I haven’t had kids in my life.  During the years that I taught blind children, I got to know and love many of the child’s classmates.  We had some great discussions – 1-1 and in groups.  Long ago, I’d visit my nieces and nephew through my marriage to Rita and we’d be silly.  More recently, it’s been fun with my nephews through my marriage to Jody.  But not much contact with children for the last two years.

But then – as in Monday – Rita’s husband Dave arrived on the train from Edmonton, with his son Rocky and his granddaughters Hannah and Josie.  They’re elementary school-aged kids.  Off the train they bounced (even after 24 hours of travel) and gave Grandma Rita big hugs.  I’m standing in the background watching.  Then I was introduced.  I stepped forward and shook their unsure hands.

We crammed into Rita’s car.  Dave, Josie, Hannah and I were wedged together in the back.  As we cruised the Vancouver streets, Dave turned into a tour guide, showing the kids this and that.  They were tired but looked like they were enjoying grandpa’s enthusiastic descriptions.  Hannah kept mentioning that she wanted to go to a restaurant like the cool pork ribs place back home.  I just loved being there with everyone.  It felt like family, even though I’m not officially a member of Rita’s family anymore.

At one point, I said to Hannah, “I hear you’re an artist.”  She smiled a wee smile.  “You did a drawing of Rita and Dave for their wedding.  I liked it.”  Smile a mite bigger.  The framed black-on-white line drawing hangs proudly on the wall.

Then we were home.  After a bit of hustle and some bustle of the house tour type, we were all in the kitchen.  I thought “Why not?  I know I’m out of season but give it a go.”

“Do you girls like the poem ‘Twas The Night Before Christmas’?  Or is it a so-so?”

Hannah: “So-so.”

Bruce: “I’ve learned to say it in a special way.  May I recite the poem to you?”

Josie and Hannah: “Okay.”

And I was off, attempting the land speed record for reciting “Twas” really fast.  Eyes widened.  Mouths curled up, especially Josie’s.  I got lost halfway through and paused for effect, but soon I was pouring out the syllables again.  I finished with a flourish, arms in the air.  Enthusiastic applause greeted me from all sides.  It’s such a fun way to make kids happy.  The adults didn’t seem to mind either.

I wonder if I’ll meet other kids on this road trip.  I hope so.

Day Twenty … Love Lives On

On Sunday morning, I set off on a journey of reunion.  To Vancouver International Airport.  Seeking out international flights, of the arrivals variety.  I got a coffee, sat down and watched folks travel up the ribboned tunnel of carpet … from Japan, Singapore, and finally England.  A very special passenger would soon be smiling at me … my former wife Rita.  We were married in Barons, Alberta in 1988 and were divorced seven years later.  Two people going in different directions.  One of our lawyers said that it was the most amicable divorce she had ever seen.

***

Interlude

I’m sitting on Beryl’s couch in Yakima, Washington.  She’s Rita’s sister.  Sadie, her little fluffy white dog, has just leapt up onto the couch to be with me.  She pokes her head my way.  I lift my fingers from the keyboard and place one hand on each side of her face.  I do believe I saw a smile.

***

I’m blabbing away to a couple when a woman stops past the ribbon, smiles and says “Bruce”.  I don’t recognize her.  I even forget where I am.  Seconds later … “Rita” and I’m hurrying to intercept her.  We hug.

Rita took me out to a lovely fish and chip restaurant that hangs over the water at the Steveston Marina.  It’s a little neighbourhood within Greater Vancouver, the perfect size for human beings.  A window table.  We laugh.  And the smile across the table was the same one that I saw in a young woman 40 years before as we snuggled on a single bed in the residence of the University of Lethbridge.  Rita has made her mark in art education, has travelled to 64 countries and has often been treated as a queen during her speaking engagements.  And that’s all wonderful.  But as I gleefully consumed my salmon fish and chips, we were “just folks”, talking about life past and present and enjoying each other’s company.  The Superman suit she sewed for me way back when.  Two months ago, at a bike ride for Heart and Stroke, I wore the shirt with the stylized “S” and the brilliant red cape.  (The red shorts gave out years ago.)  I introduced her to Vancouver, a place where she’s now lived for 25 years or so.  Marrying Dave four years ago.  Jody being ill and dying last November.  Topics past and present.  All infused with smiles.

Life is such a mystery.  Love doesn’t die.  We make mistakes.  We carry on.  We do our best.  We remember fun times.  We smile.

Day Nineteen … People Whose Eyes Shine

I stayed overnight Friday in Delta with Rhonda, Jody’s cousin.  We had never met … and we talked for six hours.  How lovely.  And it was big talk.  The journeys each of us had taken in life.  Memories of Jody.  How her husband Todd is “the bomb”.  What the heck does that mean, I thought.  Well, Rhonda was smiling so much that I figured it had to be something darn good.  We were old friends who were in each other’s presence for the first time.

Rhonda and I had trouble connecting with each other before my visit.  She never responded to any of my e-mails.  I was sad about that.  I just didn’t know what that meant.  Why wouldn’t she want to see me?  I had never done anything bad to her.  And then I heard from her that all my messages had ended up in her Spam folder.  Oh, Bruce.  Don’t assume stuff about people.  Silly goose.  Rhonda and I will definitely meet again and continue the conversation.

Next in my pilgrimage towards great souls was my old friend Joel.  We hadn’t seen each other for 29 years.  Joel was (and still is) a personal development seminar leader and I was one of his associates.  I led some seminars too, with the benefit of Joel’s coaching.  We were also friends who loved each other very much.  And still do.  One more time on my westward journey picking up with someone from where we left off decades ago.

Joel showed me around his community – White Rock – as we floated over the land in his convertible.  Then we sat on a bench by the ocean, for an hour or more.  Over the water were islands.  I saw people sleeping.  He saw turtles.  No right or wrong.  Joel told me of leading seminars on A Course In Miracles, spiritual books written by an unknown author.  I remember reading most of the Course.  My favourite quote from it?  “Is it an evil to be punished or a mistake to be corrected?”  For others and for me, I vote for the latter.  Joel sat on the bench being happy.  His work touches his fellow man.  He and his wife Marim love each other unconditionally.  And he lives in paradise.

In the evening, I was off to see Jake again.  Have I ever mentioned to you how much I want to act?  If not, let me spell it out.  I want to be Jake!   I was back in Bellingham, Washington again.  Sitting in the front row again, this time for the closing performance of Jake’s Women.  The actors hit it hard this time.  The energy onstage was huge!  Nobody talked louder or moved more dramatically than last time.  The whole cast was just “there”.  Present.  Living the moment.  So many 1-1 interactions were spot on … eye contact, touching, real.  The actor who played Jake just glowed.  As the actors left the stage after their bows, the actress who played Molly at age 12 smiled at me.  Thank you, young lady.

Wow.  So many humans … and I’m one of them.  It’s a good planet to hang out on.  A good journey that Scarlet and I are feeling.  A good life.