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.

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.