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Day Eighteen … String Bikinis and the Sky Train

Well, what can I do?  Today is Sunday and I haven’t even written about Friday yet.  And memory is not my best subject.  Oh well, I’ll give you an approximation of my life.  Because it’s uncertain business at the best of times.

The front desk clerk at the hotel in Delta (maybe 2o km south of Vancouver) told me how to get to a Sky Train station that would take me downtown.  I got lost, which actually I enjoy doing.  It gives me more chances to talk to people.  Scarlet and I wandered around until we came upon a FedEx office.  In I went, with no valid FedEx purpose.  And the two employees – a man and a woman – were perfectly helpful.  In no time at all, I was zipping along towards the Vancouver skyline in search of some of my favourite haunts.

As I emerged from the underground on Georgia St., there stood the classic Hotel Vancouver looming above me.  I found the row of big windows at the top of the building and remembered.  The winter of 1970-71, bartender’s assistant in the Grand Ballroom (or some such lofty name).  The band playing “Tiny Bubbles” every night as the older crowd danced the fox trot.  Trying to keep my face pleasant, or at least neutral, as the Lawrence Welk tune dampened my soul.  Plus the main bartender was plain mean.  A slave I was.

Next I strolled down Robson St.  I looked up at a second floor restaurant that Jody and I enjoyed when we came for Expo 86.  Farther along was the Landmark Hotel, a very tall fellow.  I had walked Jody up the same side of Robson as the hotel so she didn’t know what was coming up.  “Let’s go in here.”  As so began a breakfast in the revolving restaurant at the top of the Landmark.  We both loved surprises.

On Friday, I hurried towards the front door of the Pacific Palisades Hotel, where I worked as a bellman during the winter of 1973-74.  Reminiscing, please.  I grabbed the handle and pulled.  Locked.  A fellow walking by told me that there is no hotel anymore – just apartments.  (Sigh)

Then it was down the street to the tiny house I lived in, at Bidwell and Alberni.  I already knew that the cutesy one was gone, replaced by layered condo units.  Still, I just had to stand there near the intersection, looking up at the unique deciduous trees that still lined the street.  The trunk went straight up for eight feet and then spread into four or five thick branches.  Cool.

I used to get off my shift at midnight and walk down to the McDonald’s at Robson and Bidwell and enjoy their smallest cheeseburger, smallest fries and a tiny drink.  I’m sure I don’t have to tell you about Friday’s luncheon choice.

And then there was English Bay Beach.  In the middle of September, 1986, Jody and I walked onto the beach at sunset and sat down, propped against one of the huge logs lying there.  The freighter lights were twinkling out in the harbour.  We huddled together.  A ring was burning a hole in my pocket.  I got up.  I knelt down.  “Jody, will you marry me?”  “Yes.”  (Pause)  “Wow, you sure answered quickly.”  (Smile)

On Friday, I sat against what I guessed was that very log, ate my chocolate peanut butter waffle cone, and thought of my dear wife.  Glistening eyes.  Beside me, in front of the next log, three young women were sunbathing, two of them in string bikinis.  Naturally, I averted my eyes.  As I got up to leave, something inside moved me to say to the covered up one, “I have to tell somebody.  Twenty-nine years ago, I asked my wife to marry me in just about this same spot.”  Their eyes softened.  After I painted the picture a bit more, one of the skimpily clad girls said, “You should bring your wife back here.”  Choking up some, I told them that Jody died in November.  Tears flowed from two of the girls.  “May I give you a hug?” one of them asked.  “Yes.”  And I held a sweaty, barely clothed 20-year-old.  Two more hugs followed.  Was it exciting, hugging those young women?  Yes.  Far more importantly, it was a communion.  They each gladly took one of Jody’s books.  And then we were gone from each other.

On the Sky Train heading back to my car, I faced a full house.  That’s fine … I’ll stand.  After the car emptied some at a station, there was one empty seat.  A young woman motioned with her hand for me to sit down.  I did the same to her.  “I’m getting off at the next stop,” she replied.  I smiled and sat … next to another young woman.  She looked at me and said, “I love your T-shirt.  I want to get one.”  “Well, it’s one of a kind.  It’s poetry that my sister-in-law wrote.”  Shine a light upon my day  We talked.  I told her about Jodiette.  “Would you like a copy of our book?  I just gave away the ones I had in my backpack, but I can mail you one, if you like.”  “No thanks.  I’ll just remember the moment.”  “Okay.”  As the train rolled along, we were getting close to my station, and I didn’t know where my friend was exiting.  I don’t remember what she said next but the gist of it was “May I have a book?”  So she wrote down her name and address and will be receiving a package once I get back to Ontario.

How can all this be happening to me?  From which woodwork are these folks emerging?  Actually, it doesn’t matter.  I’m just glad they’re coming to see me.

Day Seventeen … Jake and Mr. Redbird

I wonder if I’m obsessed with the play Jake’s Women.  I guess the answer is yes.  Until Wednesday at 7:29 pm, I had watched Jake do his thing six times – three in Belleville, Ontario and three in London, Ontario.  I want to be Jake.  As of 7:30, however, make that seven.  I bipped down to Bellingham, Washington, just south of Vancouver, to sit in the gorgeous Mount Baker Theatre and dream of February, 2016 in St. Thomas, Ontario, when hopefully theatregoers will be watching me do my thing.

I auditioned for the part of Jake just before I left for the west.  How completely strange that I wasn’t nervous.  Before I was called into the inner sanctum, I talked to some kids in the lobby of the Princess Avenue Playhouse.  They were making puppets in a drama workshop.  One of the girls was playing Little Red Riding Hood in a few days.  Her name was Maddie.  Nice human being.

A bit later, I was ushered into a room where a man and a girl were sitting at a table.  It was Ross (the director) and … Maddie.  She was trying out for the part of Molly, Jake’s 12-year-old daughter.  Ross had us read from the script, especially scenes where Molly and I were together.  I’m sure he was watching for the chemistry between us.  No worries, Ross.  I really liked Maddie and she liked me.  At the end of the audition, Ross said that we had both done well.

Back in the lobby, I told Maddie that I hoped she gets the part, and she said the same to me.  We smiled and shook hands.  It was a great moment.

Okay, back to Wednesday.  Mount Baker was a very small theatre. The set was square and the audience inclined upwards on all sides.  Jake sometimes was just a few feet from me.  I almost jumped up and said, “I want to be Jake too!”  Somehow I restrained myself.  Jake was dynamic – sometimes tender, subtle, pissed off, and – for ten minutes or so with his new girlfriend Sheila – crazy.  I watched him like a hawk, including when other actors were speaking.  So many facial expressions.  Pauses that worked beautifully.  Real.

After the stage faded to black, I gave the actors a standing ovation.  Every single one of them deserved it.  I soon realized that I was the only person standing.  Oh well.  I stayed up.  As Jake left the stage, he smiled at me.  Jake to Jake, I do believe, but Ross may have other ideas.  We’ll see.

Since I’m essentially a conservative person, I’m going to resist with all my being the idea of showing up at the Mount Baker Theatre tomorrow night to see Jake’s Women again.  I mean, there is such a thing as too much.  Wouldn’t you agree?  (8!)

Jake was really on Day Sixteen but Mr. Redbird was definitely Day Seventeen.  I headed off to the Reifel Migratory Bird Sanctuary to see the feathered ones.  I’d been once before, about 40 years ago, and I had this great memory of thousands of white seabirds soaring through the air, just like in a National Geographic TV show.  But it was not to be.  No clouds of moving white.  Instead, as I wandered the gravel paths, I had company … strings of Canada geese and ducks, waddling along as calm as you please.  As long as I moved slowly and predictably, they just passed me.  Some of them smiled.

At the edge of one large pond, a woman told me that there were four great blue herons sitting in a tree across the way.  I saw one on the dead branches.  But the grey of the wood soon morphed into three other splotches of bird life.  Farther away, three more herons were perched on snags.  Then a lady or gentleman swooped down near by and took up a fish-seeking position only about 25 metres from me.  (8!)

I spent some time up the observation tower, watching swallows swoop over the marshes.  That was fun.  When I got down, I saw a young woman sitting with a girl who appeared to have Down Syndrome.  The woman was holding out her hand and a red-winged blackbird was perched on it, eating seeds.  “Do you want to try?”  “Yes, thank you.”  She gave me a handful of a sunflower seed/millet mixture and I practiced being perfectly still.  Seems I know a bit about doing that.  In less than a minute, Mr. Redbird came to say hello.  Oh my.  He pecked away so industriously.  He hardly weighed anything.  And his black claws dug into my fingers just a wee bit.  Plus we made eye contact.  For at least fifteen minutes, we had good quality time.  One time, a second red one alit on my wrist.  They took turns pecking at the seeds.  Very courteous.  Only once did they have a spat, but then returned quickly to their “After you” rhythm.  Thank you, birdies.  I had a fine time.

Day Sixteen … Maple Leaf and Star Spangled Banner

Yesterday was a totally immense day for me, in one way or the other.  First off, I went to the office of Maple Leaf Adventures in Victoria.  I talked to a woman named Jaz.  I pretended that I didn’t know much about the tall ship cruises.  “What about a trip next June, in the middle?”  “Yes, there’s a sailing from June 11-19 to Haida Gwaii.”  “That sounds good.  Has anyone signed up for it yet?”  “Just one person.”  “What’s their name?”  “Bruce Kerr.”  “Oh, I know him.  Here’s my MasterCard.”  Jaz opens a computer page and asks me my name.  “Bruce Kerr.”  (Stare, shock and slowly … a smile)  “So you just came to visit?”  “Yes.”  Such fun.  I’d do it again in a heartbeat, just to see her face.  I’m so looking forward to seeing humpback whales next June.

Had a marvelous ferry ride from the Victoria area back to Vancouver past some lovely islands.  For some of the trip I chatted with a local couple and their adult daughter.  They were downright silly people!  I don’t understand why some folks behave that way.  Oh well.  We had fun.  I had my bag of almond clusters in hand but the closest gull was probably 500 metres away.  Back in the 80’s when I pitched for the New York Yankees, I could have zipped one over to him, but my arm isn’t what it used to be.

Heading into the States to see the play Jake’s Women (which by coincidence I’ve auditioned for in St. Thomas, Ontario), I was detained at Customs for over an hour, which was fine.  It gave me a chance to meet more people.  (I’m not kidding.  I do see life this way.)  Trouble was, the first US agent was very disrespectful to me.  I eventually was first in line and I saw him put out a pylon as he motioned me to stop a few metres back.  I was dreaming of Jake and then saw him remove the pylon.  So I drove up to his window.  I didn’t notice that the red light was still on.

“Don’t people from Canada know what a red light means?”  It’s fair to say he bellowed.  “You shouldn’t be here.”  “I’m sorry.  I didn’t notice the light.”  My left elbow was resting on the window well.  “Put your arm in the car, away from my gun.”  Such anger.  I just stayed with him, letting him do what he needed to do.  I thought of karma and was sad for the gentleman.  I believe that I have very little antagonism left in me.  I’ve asked myself recently if I have any at all.  I sure can’t find any.  So that’s good.  I get to be a gift to those in emotional pain, even if they don’t realize it.

The border agent quizzed me on why I had all this luggage with me if I was just crossing the border to see a play.  I told him my story.  “Turn left and go into secondary inspection.”  Okay.  I enjoyed talking to two couples and a single guy while we waited in line.  We were all pretty light, even though we had places to go and people to meet.  Hey, nothing we could do about our situation, so lemonade time.

Another agent asked me multi-questions.  He certainly didn’t smile but at least he was civil.  After inspecting Scarlet, he came back, having found everything as I had described it.  Ten minutes later, I was driving towards a security booth for exit.  I stopped, turned off my engine, and said hello to the officer.  No response … just a hand out to take the form that allowed me to go.  (Sigh)  Earlier in the day, humanity’s best qualities were on display.  Last night, not so much.

A couple of hours before, I had been waiting in the line for Customs and spied a Chevron gas station just past the border.  Good, since my gauge said I only had 46 kilometres left in the tank.  After my adventure, I completely forgot about the station.  And there I was, heading down a freeway to my beloved Jake, and somehow the gauge now read “0”.  Next exit 12 miles.  Some more sighing.  Be nice to me, dear Scarlet, and all other benign entities in the universe.  And they were.  I limped into a Shell station.

Gosh … so much writing.  I’m going to leave my rendezvous with Jake till tomorrow morning.  Nice guy.

Day Fifteen … Loved Ones

So it was off to the ferry for me, with Georgia Strait and Victoria beckoning.  When I arrived at the terminal, I saw that I wouldn’t make the next voyage.  It would be an hour-and-a-half wait, which was fine.  That would give me a chance to write a blog post.

I thought that Starbucks would get the creative juices flowing, so I joined the line.  There was hardly anywhere to move since half of Vancouver was surely wanting to go to Victoria.  I turned to the two women behind me and said, “Is the terminal always this busy?”  And so began a journey to fast friendship.  During our conversation, I mentioned Jody and soon Kitty and Kathy were saying yes to sharing a copy of our book.  I got one out of Scarlet and told them that I’d see them on the ferry.

Retiring to a pocket of shade, I discovered that I didn’t have any Internet.  No matter.  I’d compose in Word and send it off to whoever’s out there in the evening.  So I tapped and slurped and yapped to a young couple at the same table.

Done.  (Actually, it doesn’t happen quite that fast!)  I decided to find my new friends.  As I approached their car, I saw that Kitty was reading Jody’s book, and she was crying.  Oh my.  It was time to load so I got back in Scarlet.  As our lane was given the go ahead, I looked in the rear view mirror to see a car on my ass, revving his motor.  Good heavens … tailgated on a ferry ramp.

Kathy, Kitty, her husband Craig and I sat together outside on the deck at the back of the ship.  I looked around at the Pacific Ocean and the layers of islands that stretched away forever.  “Do you think that some local people don’t see this beauty anymore?”  “Yes.”  So sad.

We talked about this, that and the other thing.  I mentioned that I had arrived with a bag of Costco’s Almond Clusters so that I could feed the hovering seagulls off the stern of the ferry.  Except that there were no seagulls.  (Sigh)  I have great decades-old memories of throwing food in the air and having the gulls swoop down to catch it in their beaks.  But not today.  At one point, I leaned over the railing and tossed a symbolic cluster up high.  Nobody came by.  The ocean swallowed it.  Thuwup.  (My best guess about cluster-sucking water)

And here comes a pretty young woman to talk to all of us.  She’s a naturalist and has lots of things to say about marine flora and fauna.  She knew her stuff, even that glass sponges (an animal) exist.  But worlds beyond that, she glowed with joy.  Her face was a symphony of expressions and her body extended, twisted and danced as she spoke.  I was blown away.  It’s nice that she was pretty, but that physical beauty was animated by her soul.  I went up to her afterwards and said, “You have such joie de vivre.  And you are a teacher, far beyond your subject matter.  A role model for us all.  Please don’t lose that.  When you’re 40, may you still show such spirit.”   She cried a wee bit and said thank you.

Kathy, Kitty and Craig laughed at my stories and shared some of their own.  It was fun.  I hugged the two women upon farewell.  And that’s it, really … “Fare thee well.”

And now – Ta Da! – my girlfriend.  I fell in love with her maybe 40 years ago and I haven’t seen her since.  We’ve never written.  I don’t even know her name.  And she’s not even human.  My love is a statue in Butchart Gardens north of Victoria.  The truth is that the main reason I came to Vancouver Island was to see her.  (I know I kid around a lot but this is not that.)  Decades ago, I read a book called Narcissus and Goldmund by Hermann Hesse.  I was enthralled to hear of Goldmund’s love of sculpting … the chance to catch the glory of life in stone or wood.  Ever since, I’ve kept my sculpting mind hidden from everyone I know.  But it’s still there … the need to create an image that captures the soul.  When , oh when, Bruce, will you start that journey?

It took a while, but I found my girlfriend in the sunken garden.  I sat near her for nearly an hour.  She appears to be a teenager.  She crosses her hands over her chest as she looks skyward.  I thinks she’s missed me.  I know I’ve missed her.  There wasn’t much to say.  We just sat together.  Afterwards, I looked up to the towering arbutus trees in the evening sun.  Their reddish bark glowed.  Me too.  Then I went to the bandshell and watched about fifteen couples dance the waltz and fox trot to a live band.  I could smell flowers.  Most of the folks were in their 50’s, 60’s or 70’s and they all moved so gracefully.  I smiled.

Quite the day.  Here’s to many more of them.  Salut.

Day Fourteen … Fired Up With Fun

Sometime I’m slow and mellow.  I figure I better be that way when I go on my long meditation retreat in the fall.  Other times – boys just want to have fun.  I’ve learned recently that my brand of humour often consists of lying to another person in a way that they know I’m kidding.  At least I hope they know.  People usually laugh.  And that’s what I want to do with the rest of my life, whether it’s five years or twenty-five.  Make then giggle.  Maybe when I’m withering away in some nursing home I’ll still be able to gather my forces and bring nurses’ mouths into an upright position.

Yesterday was a drive from Barriere, BC to Kamloops and over the mountains down to Vancouver.  Gosh, I’m having fun.  I’m not used to a six-lane freeway piercing the mountain grandeur at a speed of 120 kph (75 mph).  I just don’t want to drive that fast.  No prolonged worries on that score, however, because there was a series of red taillights ahead.  Gentle and not so gentle braking brought us all to a halt.  We were high up on a mountain slope, with the pines towering above us on the left.  The sky in front had a blob of smoke hanging in the air.  And that blob was getting bigger.  Within half an hour, it had enveloped us, but not dangerously so.  I could breathe in the subtle fumes just fine.  My small mind kept looking up to the left, with visions of flames crackling the tops of the trees and embers flying over the road to ignite the ones down the slope.  Oh, Bruce.  You’ve been watching too many movies.

In truth, we weren’t in danger.  But someone sure was.  Once we got moving, maybe an hour and a quarter later, I saw a burned out car on a flatbed truck.  The median was crisped for a few hundred metres.  Oh my God, I hope the folks in that car got out safe.

Back in time, there we stood – hundreds of travellers in and out of their cars.  I wandered over to the folks beside me, a couple from Calgary.  I told them that I was going to climb over the little barrier at the side of the road to take some pictures and asked them to watch Scarlet so that no one would steal her.  Lilian and Foluso laughed.  I then did what any normal human would do in our direless situation: I suggested we sing.  Lilian liked the idea and recommended “Jesus Loves Me”.  Sounded good to me so our duet rang above the vehicles nearby.  I think her husband was impressed …but I’m not exactly sure.

Next I shared that Scarlet has a special accessory which allows it to levitate over the short wall that separated westbound from east.  I could get in the other lanes and head back to where I’d come from.  (Strangely the traffic eastbound was unimpeded.  They were zipping away at 120.)  Anyway, Lilian and Foluso laughed again.

I was really feeling my oats now.  I moved over to the wall, stuck out my thumb, and hitchhiked.  “What’s wrong with these people?  No one’s even slowing down!”  Foluso, from the driver’s seat, just stared and grinned.  Truth is, I love it when people stare at me in … wonder?  Amusement?  Even disgust isn’t too shabby.  But I especially love the smiles and titters.

I’m now in Vancouver, waiting patiently for my ferry to Victoria to board.  I’ve found a parcel of shade so I can see what I’m telling you.  No Internet but thank you, Microsoft Word, for letting me do my thing and I can send it to you from the hotel tonight.  Makes me happy.

So … I’m officially caught up.  If I have the engerny tonight, I’ll let you know about the voyage through the Pacific waters to Vancouver Island, the seagulls who I trust will leap and spin to the foodstuffs I toss their way, and hopefully some fine soul whom I meet.  On we go.

Day Thirteen … A Family of Love

Sunday I spent lots of good time with the Chamness family near Barriere, BC.  Luana and Larry hold hands.  Hey, maybe that’s all you need to know about them!  Luana is a poet and homemaker and Larry is very mechanical.  He’s an expert on installing septic tanks and is working on his own design for a 70-foot floating irrigation pump.  Farmers have trouble with pumps that aren’t on the water and Larry’s prototype could make a big difference for them.  Waydago, Larry!  It wasn’t important that I didn’t understand a lot of what he was talking about.  I got him – the human being.

Brady is Luana and Larry’s 16-year-old son.  Like any kid, school is not a bed of roses.  He talked though about an English teacher that he really liked.  She listened to him and was always ready to help when he had a question.  Yay for teachers.

Ron is the older son, 30 or so.  He’s a whiz with engines and is a good big brother to Brady.  Like the whole clan, Ron is willing to get his hands dirty, diving into his mechanical problem-solving with gusto.

Tashina is Brady’s girlfriend.  She loves having fun with him on their longboards (really big skateboards, for the uninitiated).  They seem very happy together.  I gave a few of Jody’s books away to the family and I was thrilled that Tashina dove into it right away.

Jackie is the 19-year-old daughter.  She too has Brady’s back and helps her mom and dad a lot.  Jackie is off to Chilliwack, BC in January for nursing studies.  She’ll be a good one.

These folks are so close, forged in part by some experiences they’ve had on the land.  Once Brady, Tashina and Ron were hiking and she slipped down a slope, grabbing on to a tree to break her fall.  Ron scrambled down and somehow pulled Tashina up to safety.  It must have taken incredible strength.  Can you imagine the bond created between them?  Wonderful.

Another time, Luana was determined to reach a waterfall high up on their property.  She has some balance issues but kept going, on her own.  Brady noticed that mom had been gone a long time and went looking for her.  There was a very happy ending, which included falling water.

While I was there, Brady, Tashina and Ron headed off on a trip to the BC coast

***

Wait a minute … interlude time.  I’m sitting in the lobby of the Delta Town and Country Inn in Delta, BC, tapping away, and a mite bit concerned that I’m writing about events which happened two days ago.  How am I going to ketchup?  When what to my wondering ears should appear but a group of folks singing “O Canada” in a meeting room.  So cool.  I’ve decided to take on as a personal project to have every Canadian sing their anthem.  I think I’ll start with maternity wards and branch out from there.

***

Okay, where was I?  Oh yeah.

… for some kayaking.  As they piled into Herbie, their Volkswagen bug, Brady made sure he said “Love you” before his mom could get the words out.  And a few minutes later, he said the same to Jackie.  It’s truly what makes the world go round.

On Sunday evening, Luana wanted to show me the path that led up through their property, so we went.  She pointed out berry bushes, now past their prime, and the creek was roaring downhill beside us.  Plus all those tall cedar trees.  Wow.  I got a photo of Luana and Larry holding hands as they climbed.

Yesterday morning, I hugged Luana, Larry and Jackie before I left for Vancouver.  We all waved.  And they were still looking at me in the rearview mirror as I drove down their dirt road towards the highway.  Then I cried.  It’s hard to say goodbye to natural people.

Day Twelve … I Can’t Remember

Before I launch into Day Twelve, I’d like an appetizer – the evening of Day 11.   I was in McBride, BC and I was hungry.  The friendly front desk clerk pointed me to the Gigglin’ Grizzly Pub down the highway.  Inside, there was a huge painting of a bear over the bar.  He looked pretty hungry and I was hoping he was looking forward to nachos, not me.

My waitress was a blossom of energy, just so happy with all her customers.  I was hoping that she’d hang around me some so we could talk but she favoured the local fellows.  One guy sure looked like a cowboy to me – a rough white shirt, shiny belt buckle, jeans and a black ten-gallon hat.  Everybody was having fun.

I sat back from the bar so I could see SportsCentre on TSN – I love the plays of the day.  A mug of locally brewed beer and a Deerly Beloved pizza (ham and pineapple) and I was all set.  I sat at a huge wooden table in a cozy black leather chair.  Ahhh.

I left the pub around 11:00.  If I turned right out of the parking lot, I could have retraced my steps back to the motel, but that isn’t as much fun so I turned left.  I figured McBride was a small place so it wouldn’t be a problem.  I just followed street lights.  That would keep me in town.  It also took me into a cul-de-sac.  I laughed.  As the song says, “There’s a motel for me. Somewhere a motel for me.”  Okay, Bruce – no more singing.  Maybe twenty minutes later, I found my way home.

Now … really Day Twelve.  I was checking out when the front desk clerk and I started talking.  Andrew is a Buddhist.  Me too.  He’s been on silent meditation retreats.  Me too.  We chatted for half an hour.  And here I sit, trying to remember what he said.  I can’t.  What I do remember is telling myself during our conversation to make note of things so I could write you about it in the blog.  But that just takes me away from the here and now, so the heck with it.  Well, having said that, can I think of anything that Andrew said? … … Still no.  Here’s a quote that I love, and it fits:

People won’t remember what you say
They won’t remember what you do
But they’ll always remember how they felt when they were with you

I felt great.

Then it was a long and winding road from McBride to Kamloops, punctuated with a series of slowly climbing motor homes.  Since I had agreed to meet my old friend Lynne at 4:00 pm, I started getting nervous.  I like being on time.  As I continued on my journey at well below the speed limit, I gradually … let go.  A tremendous sense of peace washed over me.  “Bruce, you are free.”  Indeed.  I even let go of seeing Lynne, although I dearly wanted to.  It had been 29 years.  Lynne’s assistant had told me on the phone that she had a family gathering after seeing me, so maybe she would already be gone.  It’s okay.  All of life is okay, even my pains and illnesses.

As it turned out, I was well late but Lynne and I still had two hours to talk about old times and new times.  Precious moments all.  I can’t remember what we said.

My evening and overnight was spent in the home of Luana and Larry Chamness near Barriere, BC.  They live in a log cabin without running water.  And that wasn’t important.  Sitting with them in the backyard under their giant cedar trees was.  We talked and talked about life, family, Jody and the universe.  But I can’t remember the details.  All I knew was that I was home.

“Home is where the heart is.”  My heart is travelling these days and home keeps emerging around the next bend.

Day Eleven … On The Road And With The Poem

Uh oh.  I’m falling way behind.  It’s the morning [now afternoon] of Day Thirteen and I’m trying to remember Day Eleven.  I’ll do my best.

I left the home of Isabelle and Bruce and headed west towards Banff National Park, then north on the Banff-Jasper Highway, west from Jasper into BC, and north to my home-away-from-home: McBride.  Gosh, that was a lot of driving.

I was stuck in a traffic jam on the freeway approaching Banff.  How can this be?  I’m surrounded by picturesque foothills and towering cliffs.  Out in the middle of nowhere breathing in exhaust.  Once we got going again, several sights beckoned me.  First was this multi-coloured van with a black and white peace sign on the hood.  The back end and the left side were festooned with words and paintings that were extremely … sexual.  Since this is a family show, I won’t give you the details but it was astonishing to see.  Whoever the driver was, I’m sure that his or her mom won’t be riding in that van anytime soon.

Then there were the wire fences – six feet tall.  The divided highway was a corridor through all those trees, with the fences blocking animals from crossing.  All this to serve human beings?  It was eerie to drive through.  Every ten kilometres or so, I’d approach twin tunnels over the road.  The route above them dipped down in the middle and was covered with trees.  It wasn’t an intersecting road for cars.  This was for deer and moose and bears to get where they were going.  Okay.  Far better than not accessing the other half of their world.

I passed beside glaciers shining in the sun, wide river flats boasting the most exquisite aquamarine waters, and an infinite number of Jody’s trees, mostly coniferous folks reaching for the sky.  But it felt strange.  I stopped when there was a cool view to take pictures.  But I felt like an ordinary tourist, driving forever, stopping for a photo and then driving forever again.  No context.  No real relationship to what I was seeing, no walking in the trees … sort of empty.  Oh well.

Before leaving Isabelle and Bruce, we sat down for breakfast.  As we were sipping our coffee, Isabelle pulled out a book.  “I have a poem for you, because you’re a traveller.”  I’d like to share it with you.  It speaks to me as I wander from human being to human being.  Thank you, Isabelle.

To Bless The Space Between Us

Every time you leave home
Another road takes you
Into a world you were never in

New strangers on other paths await
New places that have never seen you
Will startle a little at your entry
Old places that know you well
Will pretend nothing
Changed since your last visit

When you travel, you find yourself
Alone in a different way
More attentive now
To the self you bring along
Your more subtle eye watching
You abroad; and how what meets you
Touches that part of the heart
That lies low at home

How you unexpectedly attune
To the timbre in some voice
Opening a conversation
You want to take in
To where your longing
Has pressed hard enough
Inward, on some unsaid dark
To create a crystal of insight
You could not have known
You needed
To illuminate
Your way

When you travel
A new silence
Goes with you
And if you listen
You will hear
What your heart would
Love to say

A journey can become a sacred thing
Make sure, before you go
To take the time
To bless your going forth
To free your heart of ballast
So that the compass of your soul
Might direct you toward
The territories of spirit
Where you will discover
More of your hidden life
And the urgencies
That deserve to claim you

May you travel in an awakened way
Gathered wisely into your inner ground
That you may not waste the invitations
Which wait along the way to transform you

May your travel safely, arrive refreshed
And live your time away to its fullest
Return home more enriched, and free
To balance the gift of days which call you

Day Ten … Mr. Spock, Isabelle and Bruce

It was goodbye Lethbridge and hello Calgary yesterday.  I had so much fun talking that I didn’t get a blog post written.  I hope you didn’t think I was caput.  I’m alive and happy.

The main route to Calgary goes through Fort Macleod and Claresholm.  A fellow I was talking to in Wendy’s said that I’d save some time by going through Vulcan instead.  Sure, sounds good to me.  Hmm … Vulcan.  That’s where they have the Star Trek display in honour of Mr. Spock, a pointy-eared Vulcan if ever there was one.  I’m there!

As I approached the ordinary-looking prairie town,  I figured I better ask where the Star Trek stuff was, so I pulled off the highway and walked into a restaurant.  An Oriental hostess greeted me warmly but clearly wasn’t a Trekkie.  She didn’t know anything about the Star Trek display.  Then a huge “Ah hah!” look exploded on her face.  She rushed to the window and pointed across the street.  And there stood the Starship Enterprise.  Perhaps I should scan my horizons more completely.

Off I went, taking photos of all things Trek, starting with a big board that featured the crew of the original Star Trek, plus Captain Janeway.  You could undo the head piece from behind, shove your head through and be Kirk, Worf, Spock and other celestial heroes.  There were plaques on the Enterprise monument, including a message written in Klingon.  Across a parking lot stood the Vulcan Tourist Information Centre, a white building that looked suspiciously like an outpost on the planet Xerox.  Inside a friendly lady said hello.  I was trying to greet her with Spock’s “Live long and prosper” salute, but I couldn’t get my fingers going right.  My guide had me close my eyes.  She held my hand for a bit and asked me to relax.  “Focus on your second and third finger and spread them apart … gently.  (Pause)  Now open your eyes.”  It worked.  My first and second fingers stayed magically glued together, as did my third and fourth.  I’m all set to be an extra in the next Star Trek film.

And then Calgary.  I was visiting Isabelle (70) and her husband Bruce (71).  Isabelle and I met a few weeks ago on the steps of the Church of the Holy Trinity in Toronto.  We were waiting for the doors to open for a session of Sanskrit chanting led by Krishna Das.  He chants the names of God and we in the pews sing each line back to him.  It was very moving.  Isabelle, her daughter Elizabeth and I had a great time talking before and after.  After I mentioned that I was travelling west, Isabelle invited me to visit her in Calgary.  And here I am.

Both husband and wife are remarkable.  Bruce decided at age 65 that he wanted to play the piano.  So he started taking lessons and last night played us a tender rendition of “Pachelbel Canon”.  Such an entrancing melody.  Bruce missed a few notes but, hey, life is a work in progress.  Good for him to commit himself to something brand new.  He’s also a fine storyteller.  He’s had a history of picking up things at garage sales, and reselling the items for a profit.  One day, he showed up in the driveway with his truck and asked his teenaged kids to see what was inside.  Little did they suspect … 180 rakes and hoes and tons of spades.  Those poor children were dumbfounded into silence.  I was as well when Bruce told the story.  He resold the implements the next day.

Isabelle decided recently that it was time for singing lessons.  And so she began, with a very important audience in mind – her grandchildren.  She also worked up a routine for Yuk Yuk’s and presented it.  So gutsy.  Isabelle loves volunteering at a hospice and especially likes “the grumpy ones” because they need the most love.

As you can tell, I’ve met two fine human beings.  And that’s what this trip is for me – being with people.  Because they’re the best.  I love the mountains and the lakes, the forest and the fields, but they pale in comparison with the communion of souls.

There.  I’m sort of caught up, except I haven’t said anything about today.  Tomorrow.

Day Nine … Resonating In My Heart

My day began with slight miscalculations.  I’m staying near Kamloops, BC on August 1 and 2.  Since Kamloops is directly west of Edmonton, I figured I’d spend the night of July 31 in Alberta’s capital.  I could sit in the West Edmonton Mall for a few hours and drink in the aura of rampant commercialism.  However, truth be told, Kamloops is directly west of Calgary.  So skip the mall and revel in the beauty of the Icefield Parkway between Banff and Jasper … gorgeous mountains on all sides, complete with a few glaciers.  I can’t wait.

Laundry time yesterday morning.  Real showed me the washer and everything looked straightforward.  So around went the clothes.  Then the drier.  As I reached for a Bounce sheet, I had the niggly feeling that I hadn’t put anything of a similar nature into the washer, such as detergent.  Sadly, I was correct.  My T-shirts  and shorts were very wet and still stinky.  So back into the washer they went.

I like my brain, even when I forget stuff, like standing in the basement wondering why I’m there.  I mean, who wants a totally efficient mind?  If I was focused all the time, there wouldn’t be any room to contemplate life, death and the universe.

In the afternoon, I went to see Taiko drummers at the Japanese Garden in Lethbridge – eleven women and one man who smashed the heck out of the skins atop two-foot-high wooden drums which looked like giant teacups without the handles.  The fellow especially gave it his all.  His whole body moved to the rhythms of his sticks.  Wide stance, trance-like facial expressions, small Japanese words slipping out of his mouth.  I couldn’t take my eyes off him.  The women were in their 40’s to 60’s, I’d say, and you could see the exhaustion on their faces at the end of a piece.  All sorts of rhythms from the different drummers.  Quiet tappings that grew into thrusts of power and back again.  I was gone into the music.  Thank you, Taiko folks.

And then there was the peace of the garden.  Gently curving paths. Gently curving grassy slopes.  A reflection pond hosting pagoda statues.  A four-foot-high copper gong that I rang with an oiled horizontal post.  Then I held the gong for a couple of minutes until the vibration died.  Sweet.

A family of five came towards me on the path.  I’d guess they were from India.  I asked them If they’d like me to take their picture.  “Of course.  Thank you.”  After I had done the deed, the girl of about ten smiled at me .. so fully, so lovingly, so much beyond the usual contact we have with each other.  Like the drumming, the outside flooded the inside.  Thank you, young lady.

I had a nice talk with the hostess at the visitor centre.  When I was about to leave, she asked if she could hug me.  So we did … for a long time.  Just holding – no tapping or crushing.  Lovely.

Veronica, Real and I went out to dinner at Luigi’s Pizza and Steak House in Lethbridge.  Our server was a nervous young man.  He tried describing the daily special but all he could manage was “chicken filet”.  Veronica told him, “Luigi’s has such a big menu.  It must be hard to keep track of it all.”  When he walked away from the table, I gave her the thumbs up.  That’s just what the world needs: compassion.

Back home again, Veronica and I sat for a bit on the deck.  We talked of the last hours of her mom Joan and my Jody.  Of letting go.  Of telling them that it was okay to go.  Wanting to be alone with our loved one as she died.  Four moist eyes embraced our loves in the dark of the evening.

Then it was time with Real and Veronica’s two dogs.  Luigi, a furry little white thing, lay in my lap, purring with my petting.  Riggs, a British bulldog, occupied my other hand with rubs.  So here and so now.

Today, I’m visiting my sister-in-law Nona’s dad Gordon in a nursing home before Scarlet guides me to Calgary.  I’m staying with my friend Isabelle and her husband … Bruce.  I don’t know.  Two Bruces in one house?  Could be trouble.

How I met Isabelle is another story.  Tomorrow.