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.

Day Eight … Folks Just Like Me

I often see myself as unusual, not of the norm, a little too silly for some.  Just plain different.  Looking more closely, though, we’re all pretty similar.  When I taught blind children, it was so easy to fall into the trap that they were really different from other kids.  After all, they can’t see.  And seeing stuff is a big part of my life.  But as I got smarter and looked more carefully, those young non-see-ers wanted the same things that their classmates did – to be loved, to be included, to make a mark and thus say goodbye to invisibility.

Yesterday I experienced a parade of humanity.  Here they are:

Eleanor (Jody’s aunt)
Cam (Eleanor’s son and Jody’s cousin)
Veronica (Jody’s late aunt Joan’s daughter and Jody’s cousin)
Real (Veronica’s boyfriend)
Fernando (Real’s friend)
Frank (Jody’s uncle)
Shirley (Frank’s wife and Jody’s aunt)
Carey (Frank and Shirley’s daughter and Jody’s cousin)
Pierre (Carey’s husband)
Taylor (Carey and Pierre’s daughter)
Taylor’s boyfriend (I’m sorry that I’ve forgotten your name)

Eleanor – Presented me with assorted foods and a warm smile, as well as showing me where Jody sat in the family farm’s kitchen as a 15-year-old.  I loved sitting where Jody did.

Cam – Smiled when I was enjoying a flavour of Mike’s Hard Lemonade that I hadn’t tasted – pink.  He loves hunting.  I don’t.  So what?

Veronica – She of the smiling Buddhas adorning her home.  “Life’s too short to hold grudges.”  As she and I were leaving Carey and Pierre’s place, she approached her Uncle Frank and said, “You’re not getting away without a hug.”

Real – Loves riding his Harley and is a member of a biker club that stands for integrity and non-violence.  In the pub, I asked him to sing, and he replied, “Only if it’s a Frank Sinatra tune.”  He has a beard and wears a biker jacket.  I couldn’t grow a beard for the life of me and favour t-shirt and shorts.  So what?

Fernando – Another biker club member who laughed with us as Veronica and I resurrected memories of Jody and her mom Joan over a steak sandwich (her) and nachos (me).  He was comfortable sitting beside me.

Frank – I sold real estate with Frank in the 80’s.  Well, he sold real estate – I “prospected” and dreamed of sales and listings.  Last night, he talked of family, of how important his wife, children and grandchildren are to him.

Shirley – Had a mischievous little smile on her face most of the evening and actually used that very word to describe Jody as a kid.

Carey – The lady of the house who cried when she talked about Jody.  As kids, they stole neighbours’ flowers and placed them under their family’s power mower so there’d be a flower shower upon start up.  I saw photos of the miniature Christmas scenes that she creates all over her house during the holidays.

Pierre – Is a night supervisor on a oil rig in Kuwait for six months of the year – 28 days on and 28 days back home.  Temperatures can reach 44 degrees Celsius … at night!  I couldn’t do that.  He can.  So what?

Taylor – She laughed at a few goofy things I said.  I liked her immediately.  As a young adult, she seemed totally comfortable with all those older folks yapping away.

Taylor’s boyfriend – (Okay, Bruce.  Let go of trying to remember his name > But a person’s name is important > I know, but you can appreciate him just as much without knowing it > All right)  He joined into the conversation, especially enjoying his talk with Pierre about oilfield adventures.  When I was leaving, he looked me right in the eye and said that he hoped we’d meet again.  He meant it.

We’re all the same height when we’re lying down

Elton John

Day Seven … 1975 and 1324

I roamed around Lethbridge yesterday in Scarlet.  Many of my musings were about my first wife Rita.  We were married for seven years and divorced in 1985.  And on August 9, I’ll be visiting her and her husband Dave near Vancouver.  I’m so glad that we’re still friends.

I think it was for two years (1975-1977) that Rita and I slept on a single bed in a residence room at the University of Lethbridge.  Now that’s true love!  We worked hard, training to be teachers, and laughed a lot.  We had great friends in the residence and out.  I remember setting up a table and having meals on a stairwell landing.  I remember shooting the breeze in the cafeteria, and sometimes having profs sit down to chat.

I roamed University Hall yesterday and reminisced.  The U of L is a long, dramatic building set into the coulees – hills that slope down from the prairie to the Old Man River 300 feet below.  In the winter, with a dusting of snow, the coulees past the far shore looked like people sleeping under blankets.  Cool.  I remember Rita and I sometimes not leaving the university for a month or more when it was super cold outside.

I descended from the main level 6 down a stairwell that held the ghosts of dinners, and pulled on the door to section D4, our old sleeping place.  Locked.  Protected from intruders and my memories.  I went into a lecture hall … yes, I remember.  And sat in what’s left of the cafeteria.  Hi, Rita.

Where to next, Bruce?  How about the home that Rita and I bought in 1978 (for $48,000!)  It was a lovely two bedroom sanctuary with white metal siding and a great shade tree in the backyard.  1324 7th Ave. South.  I held my breath as I rounded the corner a block away.  And there was my old friend, now adorned with a bright red front door, which looked great.  I parked on the street by the side of my no-longer-home, just like I did every night 35 years ago.

***

Another pleasant interlude.  Ray just came in from the yard and we got talking.  For some reason, he referred to himself as “nonchalant”.  Being the shy type, I thought of not sharing the following, but the imp in me couldn’t resist.  “Have you ever thought, Ray, about what a chalant person is like?  I’ve roamed the world and never come across one yet.”  (Smile from Jody’s uncle)  Okay, enough said, which will definitely be my stance on September 12 when I begin that long silent meditation retreat.  But I regress …

***

I walked up the front sidewalk and knocked on that red door.  Dad and I had installed it long ago.  I had attached the big wooden 1 3 2 4 numbers that adorned the siding to the left of the door.  Oh, what a handy fellow I was!

A young man opened the door.  I smiled and told him my story.  He smiled back and invited me in.  I met his wife and went on about Mom and Dad visiting Rita and me from Ontario, and Dad and I building the cedar fence to enclose the backyard.  Dad was the brains and I was the brawn.  Hmm … or maybe Dad was both the brains and brawn, and I hammered a few nails.  I recollected Rita and I sitting in the cozy living room.  I told the young folks that I had planted the Russian olive trees that graced the side yard … trees which now showed personal growth from 3 feet to 20.  I loved the few minutes in my old home.

I walked outside and strolled towards our fence.  I put my hand on a board and remembered my father.  “You did a good job, Dad.  Thank you for being here with me.”  Some tears.  I was a pretty good son to Mom and Dad but I could have been a lot better.  “So forgive yourself, Bruce.”  Yes.

Quite the journey …these lives of ours.  I’m glad I’m along for the ride.

Day Six … Scenes From The Plains

I wound my way from Weyburn, Saskatchewan to Lethbridge, Alberta yesterday … and so did Scarlet.  We saw magical things, and some less so.

1.  A line of power poles stretching to the horizon, unobstructed by trees, the wires dipping gracefully between each

2.  Oxbow creeks, where the stream winds back and forth in tight curves, like a ribbon lying on a table.  No hurry to get anywhere.

3.  Coming over a rise and looking deep down into the river valley, enjoying at least 200 brown cows spread over the meadow beyond and the hills above

4.  Passing old weathered barns and homes of grey boards, some listing to the left or right and others with rooves about to collapse in the middle

5.  Newly painted yellow lines down the middle of my two-lane roads, often smeared by drivers of questionable consciousness.  Sadly, I thought weeks ago that such displays were the marks of inconsiderate Ontarians only, to discover that Manitoba, Saskatchewan and Alberta have their share of people wanting to be noticed.

6.  Being lulled by the straight roads only to snap alert when a lake to my right seemed to rise up in gentle folds.  Huh?  Turns out it was a blue field of flax.  For a moment there I thought I’d been transported into an alternative universe.

7.  Seeking out the traditional wooden grain elevators that I used to know and love.  They’re tall rectangles, usually with what looks like a small house growing out of the top.  And always the name of the community proudly displayed on the side.  Now it’s mostly vertical cylinders of cement stuck together with some lattice work of metal on top, reaching for the sky.  (Sigh)  I love tradition.

8.  Bugs splattered all day on my windshield, effectively neutralizing the quality cleaning job I had done in Weyburn.  Just part of the landscape.

9.  Fingers of grey reaching down from the background blue, tempting the earth with rain

10.  Giant shredded wheats scattered  far and wide in the fields, making me long for a late breakfast

And then … after Medicine Hat I started scouring the horizon for my beloved mountains.  “But, Bruce, you can’t see mountains from this far away.”  Well, hope springs eternal.  I used to be good at telling the difference between mountains and clouds, but I seemed to have lost my touch yesterday.  Closer to Lethbridge, I gazed at the downward progression of the sun slightly to my right.  I was so looking forward to the sunset.  Go, sun, go!  Near Taber, I glanced to the left, and there they were … I even recognized Mount Cleveland and Chief Mountain!  “Hello, dear ones.  I’m back.”

I rolled into the yard of Ray and Joy Doram around 9:00.  Ray is Jody’s uncle and he showed my lovely wife great kindness when she was younger.  Another reunion.  I’ll tell you about our cozy conversations tomorrow.

Day Five … R and R

Scarlet, I hope you enjoyed your day off yesterday.  You looked so content, sitting in front of Henry and Louise’s place all day.  And don’t worry about me – I had a great time, which for me means that I was with people.  Henry and Louise are golden.  The bodies look older and a little more uncooperative but the bigness of heart is right there for all to see.

In 1972, Henry was quite the joker.  Me too.  We were great roommates.  In 2015, Henry still has a surprise or two up his sleeve:

“Bruce, are you a swinger?”

(Gulp)

“Let’s go swing.”

Henry leads me around a corner of a building in his backyard, carrying two photo albums.  And … Voilà! … There sits a big wooden swing that could rock four people comfortably.  We sit down beside each other and start looking at my friends’ wedding photos.  Louise and Henry look radiant.  I point out the ones I like, and the ones I don’t, composition-wise.  There’s a shot of Henry and Louise, his arm around her waist, in front of candles and their wedding cake, smiling at someone to the photographer’s right.  There’s a yellow curtain behind Henry’s head and the photographer made sure that the top edge of the curtain isn’t in line with the top of his head.  I’m proud of that picture.  I was the photographer.  A little bit of pride never hurt anyone, I figure.

The three of us spent a couple of hours leafing through albums.  What fun.  There’s a photo of me at a 60’s party in 1972 in Ottawa, dancing with my friend Glenda.  My hair is brown (pretty much like it is today), long and very curly.  I’m wearing hornrimmed glasses.  My tongue has emerged from its cave.  Oh my God, that’s me!

Another pic shows a lovely young girl of about 10, flowing black hair, lipstick, a long sleeveless dark blue dress, and strings of white pearls.  So pretty.  Except it was a boy.  Adam, my friends’ grandson, had dressed up for a school costume party.  Adam’s mom Paulette was apparently thrilled with his disguise and the school principal didn’t bat an eye.  I like it.

In the afternoon, Henry and I went out and about in his Dodge Ram, supposedly to pick up some garlic bread for supper, but really to talk and have him show me the homes he’s built in Weyburn, and other sights.  They included the mental hospital that recently was torn down, in favour of more community-based care.  The site was now the beginnings of a new subdivision but somehow I felt the presence of ghosts … a lot of anguished human beings.

At the grocery store, the cashier had an accent, and Henry prodded gently for her origin, a big smile covering his face.  At first the woman resisted his advances (“Your total is …”) but soon they were talking in French and she was sharing her German heritage.  Gosh, Henry is a lot like me in the grocery lineup.

Back at home, Henry saw his neighbour in the driveway, so we went over to shoot the breeze.  Nice guy, with a story to tell.  He had been driving near Weyburn when a tornado touched down.  He and his truck were on the edge of it and the two of them were buffetted pretty good.  “I was scared.”  Afterwards, this fellow saw a house that had been invaded by plywood.  Sheets of it had been thrown by the wind through a wall, the edges cutting like a knife through butter.  Gulp again.

***

It’s 8:00 am and I’m sitting in the living room tapping with my digits.  Louise is yawning towards me.  It’s drizzling outside.  “Henry’s out watering the garden again.”  He always says that to her during a rain.  So funny.

***

Last evening we had a delicious dinner of chicken, potatoes and beans, two of which were from Louise’s garden.  Plus excellent garlic bread that someone had no doubt spent hours preparing.  Not to mention two ice cream cones offered to the visitor from Ontario.  Who am I to refuse such hospitality?

It was family time.